


The Apostle of Tarsus

by Sailorhathor



Category: Miracles (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angels, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:17:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sailorhathor/pseuds/Sailorhathor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chasing Destiny

**Title:** The Apostle of Tarsus  
 **Author:** Sailorhathor  
 **Fandoms:** Supernatural/Miracles Xover  
 **Pairing:** Sam Winchester/Theresa Callan, Dean/OFC  
 **Rating:** Adult (R)  
 **Warnings:** A few Het sex scenes. Language. Spoilers for a few episodes of "Miracles." Takes places mid-season 5 of SPN.  
 **Summary:** _Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him._  
 **Author's Notes:** Chapters 1-4 were betaed by Sammie. wine_into_water and tvsgrady gave it a good readthrough and provided some helpful impressions. Thanks to them, and to Nicky for providing the German and French.

The idea for this story came to me about November of 2010. I've been working on it ever since then. It may be one of my favorite crossover ideas ever.

For the record, Theresa Callan is not an OC. Many aspects of her personality and character makeup come right out of the "Miracles" series. Her name is on Paul's dossier from "The Friendly Skies." We got a brief glimpse of her when Paul dreamed about her death in "Mother's Daughter." We know she was a devout Catholic who attended Father Calero's church. We know she died of cancer one week before Paul's fifth birthday, and that she had arranged with Father Calero for Paul to live under his care at the orphanage after she died. An online friend of mine purchased the original script for "Hand of God" off Ebay, which provides several facts about Theresa that were cut out of the final version - Paul says she loved roses and tuna casserole, and that she had told him his father was a very bad man who lived far, far away from them, which was for the better. The rest, I made up.

Told from Sam's first person POV. Takes place in a completely different universe from any other SPN/Miracles 'verse I've created.

 

**Chapter 1: Chasing Destiny**  
Words: 4,218

 

Angels lie.

I bet you didn't know that. Probably didn't even think it was possible, not after all the TV you've seen of Michael Landon and Roma Downey playing perfect little angels, the most moral creatures ever created, right? They save people who aren't meant to die and set things right.

Heck, you probably didn't even know they actually exist. It's not like everyone hangs around with them, has been pushed around and beaten up by them, has had their existence shoved down their throats.

I probably shouldn't get so mad at Castiel. He only did what he thought was right. But sometimes, I can't help it.

I should explain about myself. My name is Sam Winchester, and practically since my birth, my family has been hunting down dangerous and evil supernatural creatures. A lot more of them exist than you would ever want to admit to yourself, trust me. It may just be easier for you to keep your head in the sand if you can - you'll sleep easier at night. If you knew everything that I know, you'd be up all night, patrolling your house with a shotgun and checking on your kids every five minutes. No, it's probably better if you don't know what lurks out there in the dark.

I had no choice in the matter.

Angels cannot move around on Earth without the benefit of a human host; otherwise, they'd be too-bright balls of light flying around, burning out the eyes of the populace. Seriously, looking upon them in their natural form burns your eyes out of your head - I've seen it happen. Castiel is one of these angels who came to Earth to act as some sort of advisor to my brother and me. He took a host, or a "vessel" as they call them, a man named Jimmy Novak. This will be important later.

It's a really long story how the Apocalypse began, but it did, in the year 2009. You're probably thinking I've totally flipped, believing in a real Apocalypse, but if you look at the events of that time, you'll see there were a lot of strange things going on. Fire raining from the sky, entire towns wiped out overnight...

My brother and I - my brother's name is Dean - found out we were vessels as well; it runs in the bloodline down from Biblical times. The angels said it was destiny. In many ways, for us, it was Hell.

Dean. How can you express how much you love a person, how important they are in your life, with mere words? He's always been there for me. Always had my back. Has taken more shit from me than he ever deserved, more than anyone else ever has. And still, Dean's there, ready to forgive. I love him so much. I hope we never get separated by the hunting life again.

Anyway, we found out we were vessels, destined to act out the end of the Apocalypse together. Dean, it turned out, was the vessel of Michael the Archangel. Yes, _the_ Michael. And I was lucky enough to be the vessel of Lucifer. Yeah, that Lucifer. Satan. The Devil. If that blows your mind, think of how I felt. The man who is destined to be the vessel of a creature like that must be a horrible man, you're probably thinking.

Right?

You may not believe me, but it is possible for that man to be a good person. Someone who would never want to act as the devil's meat suit, but was fated to do so by a destiny he didn't want. Dean and I were supposed to act our parts and accept the warring brother angels into our bodies, and be puppeted into a war they had been preparing to fight for over two thousand years. The very idea perverted everything we had built over our lives. Two brothers who fought to save the world, being forced to destroy it. Dean and I had no intention of doing that.

There came a day in early 2010 that Castiel came to us and said that he knew of a man, a very important man, who had been fated to help save the world. I brought up the fact that the angels had said that Dean would be the one to do this, the one who put Lucifer back in Hell, that _prophecy_ had said it would be Dean, but Cas responded that Dean would do it with help. It seemed that Chuck the Prophet had received a new vision.

Yeah, I know. The Prophet _Chuck?_ It's kinda funny.

We all set out for Boston the next day, where this man would be found. Castiel said his name was Paul Callan, and he worked for a paranormal investigation group called Sodalitas Quaerito. Say that three times fast! Or, just say SQ, like we do. The group consisted of Alva Keel, Evelyn Santos, and Paul. Castiel said that Paul had been having psychic visions of the coming Apocalypse, so he wouldn't be that surprised when we walked in.

Even so, I didn't expect Paul's overdramatic reaction when we entered that office. His eyes got big, and he backed away, looking like he was about to throw up. "You," he said. "It's you."

"You've been having dreams about the vessels," Castiel stated matter-of-factly, almost like he didn't even have to guess at any of the coming events.

"Yes," Paul replied. He pointed at Dean and I with a shaking finger. "You're the vessel of Michael the Archangel," Paul said when he indicated Dean. Then he looked at me. I don't think I've ever seen him so afraid. "And you're..." was all he said, and turned and ducked away into another room, where he stayed for nearly twenty minutes.

We all gave Paul some time to recover. Truthfully, I needed the time myself as well. It was never easy to have people react to you that way, when they found out who you were. But it was to be expected, with Paul being raised as a Christian in the Catholic faith.

Dean and I told Alva Keel everything we knew about the Apocalypse. The woman, whom they called Evie, stood by and listened, not saying much. She seemed to defer to Mr. Keel a great deal. It was obvious he was the major brains of the operation, but that didn't mean the other two didn't have strong opinions of their own. It just meant that Mr. Keel had a great deal of knowledge on the supernatural, and his associates knew it.

His looks were quite striking. I don't mean that in a drooly sort of way, just that the man had piercing blue eyes and a strong chin, with a slight European accent which turned out to be Scottish. He made a definite impression on me.

"When Paul began having these dreams, I knew they were serious," he said. "It's still quite a shock to have you all walk right into the office one day."

Dean and I nodded. "I can imagine," I added.

Evie couldn't stop looking at Castiel, a little uneasy. She too had a striking appearance, but more for how pretty she was, one of those people you think could have been a model if they had that ambition. Long, curly black hair and a very attractive face. When there was a lull in our conversation, she spoke up. "Are you really an angel?" she asked Cas.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, I am an angel of the Lord. Paul told you that?"

"Yes." She looked him up and down. "Said you dressed like Columbo. I couldn't believe it, but..."

Castiel glanced from one person to another. "Columbo?" he said.

Leaning over to him, Dean whispered, "TV character. He wears a trench coat too."

"Oh."

Paul came out of the office then. He still gave me those looks, like it was too overwhelming to even lay eyes upon me. But we tried to have a civilized conversation.

Paul's appearance is a bit soft, with deep brown eyes and high cheekbones. Very boyish, very youthful. He has his mother's smile. I trusted him in an instant, and I couldn't have even told you why, not then. I did everything I could to set him at ease.

"Mr. Callan, have you ever been put in a situation where people kept telling you things were going to happen one way, but you knew that way was wrong?" I asked him.

He thought about it a second, and then leaned back against a desk and let out a small laugh. Some memory, a bitter one it seemed by his expression, came to him then. "Yeah."

"Did people ever tell you you were destined to become something you never imagined for yourself?"

Again, he took a short time to think about that, tapping lightly at his bottom lip with two fingers. He looked up at me and replied, "Yes. There was this boy, and he said that..." The memories flooded his mind and got him all choked up; Paul took a moment to swallow down the emotion that constricted his throat. "Never mind, it's a very long story."

"I'd be willing to listen if you want to tell me."

"No, no, it's too much to tell. Just know that once, I was involved in a bad situation where certain individuals tried to get me to believe I was destined to kill a whole group of people simply because they had experienced a rare paranormal event. That it would be for the best of all humanity that they die. For a time, I... I started to believe that these individuals were right.

"You might think that would make a man feel good, knowing he was chosen to save the world, but... not me. I didn't want that job. There was so much left up to chance, so much to question. Would I be doing the right thing? What if these individuals were wrong, what if the message didn't mean what it seemed to mean, would I be damning myself to Hell if I killed these people? And could I even do it?" He looked me in the eyes then, very seriously. "It's one thing to tell a man to kill others because they are evil. It's another thing to actually do it."

I nodded in complete understanding. "It's a very hard choice to make."

Now Paul nodded.

I added, "Imagine being one of those people who experienced the rare paranormal event. Someone thinks you're evil, and you know you're not. You're just a pawn in someone else's game. Nothing you can help. You just want to be good. But they keep telling you you're not."

To that, Paul sat back against the desk again, his arms crossed, and thought about my problem. It didn't take long for him to look up at me with a sorrowful expression upon his face. "That must be very tough for you."

Finally, he understood my point of view. "It most definitely is."

Shortly after, the mood was lightened by Paul and Castiel having a bowing contest. Paul wanted to bow to the holy angel, and Castiel said it was he who should praise God while in Paul's presence. First, Paul got down on one knee and lowered his head, then Castiel did the same. It was quite comical. But it did lead to Paul asking why Cas would even want to praise God and all that just for being in the same room with him.

"You are a very important man, Paul Callan," Castiel replied.

"People have been saying that for years. What does it mean, Castiel?" He looked so desperate and lost at that moment; it tears my heart out to think about it. "Why am I different? Please tell me."

Cas looked at Dean and I, and then back at Paul. He seemed to be unsure that he should tell him anything about his destiny. The angel chose his words carefully. "It's possible... very possible... that you are one of the most crucial vessels who ever lived. The fate of the world may rest with you, Dean, and Sam."

Paul reeled. Putting a hand over his mouth, he began to laugh, his eyes glistening with overwhelmed tears. "What? What kind of vessel am I?"

"I shouldn't tell you."

"Castiel, please, I'm begging you - "

Suddenly, Cas became very serious; it was obvious he was going to be immovable on this issue. "No. No, I'm sorry Paul, but I shouldn't have even told you that. It can be dangerous to know too much about your own destiny. Just know that when the time comes, you'll know to say yes."

"Say yes to who?"

Castiel only repeated himself. "When the time comes, you'll know."

Paul couldn't help it, and began to cry at that moment. I wished I could comfort the guy. Evie put an arm around him and ushered him out of the room where he could weep in peace for a little while.

I understood. I knew what my destiny was. Paul didn't. It's a lot of pressure, to be told something like that, and not even know who it is you are supposed to say yes to.

Later, Paul came back. He wanted to know why Dean and I had gotten into our line of business. I suppose it was a way of changing the subject. Dean told most of the story, about how our mother had been burned alive on the ceiling of my nursery back in 1983 by a demon named Azazel. Paul recognized the name from some extra books of the Bible that had not been accepted as canonical. That made his eyes get big again. Apparently, those books were real. Dean explained how the event had sent our father on a quest to find that demon, and kill him, and how we had gone along for the ride. Our entire lives had been about fighting evil, Dean, since he was four, and me, practically since birth.

Something about that made Alva speak up, telling us his own story. "When I was in school at Cambridge, my minor was Linguistics. I was analyzing patterns of bird song. Field ravens. The easiest way to do that was to sit in a field and record their chattering... listen to it back and make note of the patterns... and find meaning in those patterns. An ambitious project. I had no idea how it would change my life.

"My mother had passed away in 1984. When I was a child, she read to me from a storybook about a bloodhound named Mango. I loved that book." Mr. Keel laughed a little; his eyes were far away, remembering. "On November 21, 1985, the sounds on my tapes changed. Among the raven song were voices. Human voices."

"EVP?" Dean asked.

"Yes. Among those voices, I heard the voice of my dead mother. She kept saying, 'Mango.' That's all, just, 'Mango.' This is why I became a paranormal researcher. The strength of one word. I'm still searching for an explanation."

"Yeah." The story seemed to touch my brother on a level he wasn't used to acknowledging. "I would think you would. Your mother, calling to you... and she doesn't tell you why."

"It must be hard," I said. "But maybe she just wanted to say hello, and nothing more. Maybe it doesn't mean anything bad."

"It's hard to believe that, wouldn't you say? I mean, your mother calls to you from the grave, she must need something." Mr. Keel said it so matter-of-factly, and the look on his face... it tugged at my heart. I wished I had answers for him, just to calm those troubled eyes. To finally bring him the peace for which he'd searched for so long.

Paul spoke up then. "Huh. I never really thought about this, but my mother's death is fairly mundane when compared with both of yours. There was no demon to chase or voice from the grave. Just a regular human disease that kills millions." He wasn't trivializing her death, only reflecting over the differences.

"What happened?" I asked.

He took a deep breath. "My mother got a brain tumor in early 1978. She was gone within a matter of months. I went to live at the orphanage after that; I mean, I was barely five. Couldn't take care of myself."

"Where was your father?" Dean questioned.

Paul got a troubled, angry look in his eyes in reaction to that; his eyebrows dipped in the middle and he crossed his arms across his chest. "I don't know. He was never there. I remember seeing the other kids playing with their dads and asking my mother why didn't I have a daddy? Where had my father gone? And she said that he didn't want to have anything to do with us, that he had gone far, far away, and that was how it should be, because he was a very bad man. She said we were safer with him far away from us. When she talked about him, she would start to cry, and that was enough of a convincer for me that he must be a very bad person, because he had broken her heart."

Both Dean and I got a little twinge in our chests when we heard that story; obviously, Paul was still hurting badly, never having known his father and growing up without much of his parents' love to go on. At least we had had our father.

"I was almost five when my mom died too," Dean remarked.

Everyone was quiet for several long moments, brooding, thinking about our mothers and how they weren't there anymore.

Castiel was the one to break the silence. "Sam, may I speak with you in the other room?"

Everyone watched us go, wondering what Cas wanted to tell me. I wouldn't see any of them again for several months. Several months for me, anyway.

"What is it, Cas?"

"Sam, I'm certain now. Paul Callan is the man I've been looking for. He's crucial to the survival of the human race." The angel raised his hand. "I must send you back to 1978."

Angels have the power to send people backwards and forwards in time. They do this by touching you on the space between your eyes. When I saw Castiel bringing those first two fingers toward my forehead, I grabbed them and pushed them away. "Cas, what? Send me back to 1978?"

"Yes. Didn't you hear Paul? His mother died in 1978." He brought the fingers up again.

Once more, I batted them down. "Cas, explain this to me before you just zap me back in time more than thirty years, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel replied, sounding a bit put out. "There was an incident in 1978 that put Paul's life in danger, and if I send you back, you, and only you, can ensure that he's around to grow into the man you see before you now."

"Why just me? Dean can't come too?"

"No, his presence there would upset the balance. Just know that it has to be you, and that Paul's mother needs your help."

I sighed. "First Paul needs my help, now his mother? Cas, what else happens in 1978 besides Paul's mom passing away?"

"Sam... this man will never be ready to help save the world if his mother dies. Her loss affected him so profoundly that Paul does not currently have the will to act as the vessel we need him to be. His acceptance of the highest order will only cause his body to explode on contact."

"The highest order?" I asked.

Castiel waved the question away as irrelevant. "You must go back and save Paul's mother, for his sake. For the sake of us all."

"How am I supposed to save Paul's mom? She died of _cancer_."

Shaking his head, the angel explained, "Theresa Callan did not die of cancer."

That was the first time I heard her name.

Castiel continued, "She died from a spell, cast on her by demons to make it look like she had a brain tumor. The spell was slow-acting, and ate up her life force. But she can be saved from this spell."

"How?"

"There's a holy rosary, kept by a priest known to Theresa. Father Calero. We don't know where he's keeping it. If you can get that rosary, and convince her to wear it, the spell can be broken within a few weeks."

That seemed easy enough. Or, at least doable. "That's all I have to do?"

"Yes."

"And Paul Callan will get to grow up with his mother?"

"Yes, Sam, he will."

I wanted that very much for Paul. Not even I knew how much I would want it for him before this was all over. "Okay," I began, "I'll go back and find this rosary, and save Paul's mom."

Castiel seemed very relieved. "Thank you, Sam."

"I still don't understand why Dean can't come along, but I guess you know what you're doing." I took a deep breath and held it, bending my knees. When Cas didn't do anything, I said, "Well come on, let's go."

"Actually, I should give you some instructions first. I have forgotten to explain to you the circumstances under which Theresa Callan is living when you will encounter her." He looked at me very seriously. "She knows the demons are around her. She knows they want her son. And she thinks they may be the ones who have made her ill. But, she can't talk about these things with anyone. Theresa sent Paul away to live with a powerful congregation of nuns for his own safety."

"I thought Paul grew up in an orphanage?" I questioned.

"He did. Upon Theresa's death, Paul was able to return to Boston. The demons could see that her death had broken the little boy's soul, so they no longer had any need of him. As things are now, the nuns have prayer circles going 'round the clock to keep Paul's location secret, but even the mere mention of the child's name in Theresa's presence would upset the balance of the protective energy surrounding her. They want to claim Paul now, in case their death spell somehow doesn't work on his mother.

"Do you understand me, Sam? You must not ask where Paul is. You must not even say his name. It will only bring the demons straight to her. They are watching, waiting for that barrier to be weakened. If they think Theresa knows where Paul is, they will torture her until she's dead to get that information out of her. As far as you're concerned, Theresa doesn't even have a child. Do you understand how serious I am about this?"

My mind was reeling from the responsibility Castiel was placing on my shoulders. He was right; I just had to put it out of my mind that Theresa Callan even had a child, because otherwise, I would be tempted to ask her questions about her son, and to try to get her to talk about him. "Yes, Castiel, I understand," I said.

"Once Theresa's life has been saved, we can find a safe place for her to go with Paul, where the demons can't find them. If you successfully complete the task set before you, he can return to his mother's arms, safe and warm."

That sounded perfect to me. "You'll tell Dean where I went?"

"That won't be necessary. When I return you to 2010, you'll arrive at the exact second you left," explained Castiel. "Dean won't even know you were gone."

"Okay. Let's go then."

Before we left, the angel waved his hand before my eyes and said some words in Enochian. It was something he'd never done before. "Why'd you do that?" I asked.

"Protection," he said.

A split second after Castiel touched me between the eyes, I found myself standing on a street corner at mid-day, looking up at a billboard on the side of a building. It was an advertisement for an upcoming movie.

_Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House,_ it said. I thought of how disappointed Dean would be that he couldn't have come along with me. _Animal House_ was one of his favorite films.

"We should go to the hotel where Theresa works," Cas instructed.

"So I can meet her?" I asked. If I was going to get her to wear this rosary, it followed that I'd have to gain her trust.

"Yes, and..." Castiel swayed on his feet. "...so I can lie down for a while."

Sometimes, Dean and I both forget how it could weaken Cas to do these trips through time. "Oh, certainly," I said, and put an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

"Don't worry, Sam. This shouldn't be at all complicated as long as you do as I have instructed," was the last thing he said to me before we got to the hotel.

It's as I said. Angels lie.

Sometimes, when I think of what Castiel did to us, I want to kill him. But most days, I thank him.


	2. That's How It Happens

**Chapter 2: That's How it Happens**  
Words: 5,652

 

Castiel pointed her out, behind the hotel front desk. "That's Theresa."

The first time I saw Theresa Callan, she had a purple and yellow scarf wrapped around her head, a sheer thing that allowed her dark brown hair to spill out and cascade down over her shoulders. I know that sounds cornball, hair cascading, but that's really what it did, in waves. She had this spunky sort of look to her, with a little button nose and a smirky grin - you know how some women have that look that tells you they take no shit? Theresa totally had that look. She was wearing the standard dress shirt, blazer, and skirt of a hotel front desk clerk, but her takes-no-shit face really made her stand out for me. The scarf couldn't be part of her standard uniform, though. I asked Castiel, "Why's she wearing the headscarf?"

"To hold on the wig."

"Wig? She's wearing a wig?"

"Yes. The radiation treatments... the chemo..."

So the cascading hair wasn't her own.

Cas added, "That's her natural hair color, though."

Confused, I asked, "Why is she having chemo and radiation treatments, Cas? You said she didn't really have cancer."

He wobbled on his feet a little, eyelids fluttering.

"Oh, gosh... should I get the hotel room?"

The angel recovered, holding onto a post for balance. "Not just yet. I'm... I'm okay."

"Well, give me the short explanation so we can check in already."

"Theresa doesn't know for sure that she's been made sick by a demonic spell. There are bad feelings, half-glanced shadows on the wall... the average person suspects they are being stalked by demons and that to think such a thing, they must be crazy. But then the priest of her church comes to her and says he thinks her child is in danger from evil forces. Theresa takes his advice, she sends Paul away for protection, and she doesn't discuss what may be happening to her. Perhaps it's for the best that someone look after her child for a while anyway, as she's been feeling very, very ill for months now.

"Imagine you are Theresa. You go to your doctor, and he says it's a brain tumor. You should start treatment right away. But you are unsure. What if your bad feeling about being besieged by demons is correct? What if the doctor is correct?"

I had begun to nod before he finished his sentence. "I'd cover all my bases, just to be safe," I replied.

"Yes. Like her son, Theresa is a devout Catholic, so she prays every day, and she has her cancer treatments. To, as you say, 'cover all' her 'bases.'"

"That poor woman," I said. "She's just doing damage to her body to fight tumors she doesn't even have. Cas, can't we tell her? Theresa could stop having the treatments and concentrate on the praying if we - "

He cut me off. "No, Sam. Any mention of what's really happening to her will bring the demons right to her. You _must_ remember that."

I nodded my head in understanding. "Okay," I said with a sigh. It really bothered me, the thought of someone going through a tough thing like chemotherapy and radiation when they didn't have to. That's such a hard thing, to keep your mouth shut for someone's own good when you know telling them the truth could be in their best interest as well.

We watched her from across the lobby for a bit. After a short time, I noticed that Castiel was now leaning his upper body against the post, eyes closed, looking very out of it. I insisted I just check in already. "Okay, Cas, I got this. I'm ready to interact with her."

"Don't blow it," he said, which made me turn back to him for a moment and laugh. He must've gotten that from Dean.

When she smiled up at me, eyes going a little wide for a second, my mind wouldn't make words. Theresa was so beautiful to me. Not an obvious beauty like a model, but a quiet one, like a regular girl you'd meet on the street, at the mall, in high school. I felt such sympathy and desire for her at the same time. To be dealing with all she was dealing with... she had to be strong. That strength only made her more attractive.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Millstone," she said. "Would you like to check in?"

"Uh..." My mind, words, not happening at first. Castiel's warning played through my head. _"Don't blow it."_ It seemed to snap me out of it. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love to check in. Or, I want to check in, to get a room. Yes. Ahem." That's about how I sounded. Ugh.

I could hear Dean in my head, going, _"Smooth, Sammy. Smooth."_

Theresa grinned like she was amused with me and asked, "A single?"

For a second, I looked around for her computer, but of course, she was working from a ledger. It was going to be tough to get used to the 1970's lack of technology. "No, I'm staying with my friend there." I hooked a thumb behind me at Cas, still leaning on the post.

She looked at Cas, and then back at her ledger. "Then you'll want two beds?"

"No, just one. Queen size is fine." Hey, angels don't sleep. And guys named Sammy sometimes need a brain transplant.

One eyebrow raised, Theresa looked at me quizzically, and said, "Okay," like she found my choice of sleeping arrangements to be questionable.

What she must be thinking... it hit me then. "Oh, uh, my friend there, he, he won't be there much. Just a business associate... always in and out. We don't even sleep at the same time."

"Oh," she said, writing in her ledger. Then she gave me a coy look and we both started snickering.

That's how it happens, you know. How you realize you're attracted to someone, that you have chemistry.

I rolled my eyes. "It saves money. I'd really like to get him up to the room right now - "

"Oh?" Theresa said again, putting a lot of comical emphasis into it.

Giving her a scolding look, I said, "You didn't let me finish."

She chuckled and waited for my full reply, smirking at me.

"My friend there has been drinking a little too much. He needs to go to bed." Then I added, "Alone."

"Oh, did he have a few too many martinis with lunch?"

"You could say that."

Grinning, Theresa put the ledger on the counter in front of me. "You'll be in room 208. Just sign here and pay $20 up front."

I didn't see any reason not to sign my real name. Once I'd handed over the money, she gave me two keys, and took back the ledger, reading it. "Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Winchester."

I mirrored the smile that she gave me. "Thank you, Theresa. You can call me Sam, if you want." Just hoping that didn't sound all lecherous. It always bothers me at times when I work an honest living that people will read my name tag and use my first name just because it's right there before their eyes. Too personal.

Didn't seem to bother her, though. "Alright, Sam. I'll see you around."

We kept looking at each other as I walked away, continuing to smile like idiots and chuckle giddily. I draped one of Cas's arms over my shoulders and walked him to the elevator. In my head, I was wondering if she ever liked to be called Terry, or if it was always Theresa. By the time we got to the room, Cas was bleeding from the mouth.

He was unconscious when I laid him out on the bed. First, I got a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned off his mouth. Then I took Cas under the arms and dragged him up the mattress until his head was on the pillow, and removed his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. If angels even need to be comfortable. While my mind began scheming over how I was going to accomplish my task, I rolled Castiel on his side and started to take off the trench coat and suit coat with it.

"Didjou meet 'er?" he slurred.

Oh, he was slightly awake. "Yeah. I think she likes me already."

"Good." Cas didn't react much to me taking off his coats; he was pretty out of it.

I offered an explanation anyway. "I thought you'd be more comfortable without all these coats on."

"Okay," he said, and seemed to pass out again.

Once the two coats were laid out over the back of a chair, I sat down to catch my breath. Castiel's vessel isn't a large man, but rolling him around on the bed to get a coat off of him isn't the easiest work either. Especially when he's like a rag doll. First, I should make a chart of what I know, I thought. That's what we usually did, chart out everything we knew about a case. Then -

Castiel interrupted my thoughts with one more remark. "Don't buy anything," he said. "Not yet."

That made my heart skip a beat. "Buy anything?"

Cas was out again. I got up and leaned over him, putting my hand on his chest and giving it a little shake.

He wouldn't respond.

Then it hit me. I went into my wallet and started looking at the bills.

Series 2006. Series 2006. Series 2006. They all had a recent year on them. "Oh, crap," I said out loud.

Surely, the bill I had given Theresa had a recent year on it too. Only for her, it would be a year in the future.

As I brooded in my chair for a while, I hoped she wouldn't look at the twenty too closely. It could ruin everything.

*****

Castiel woke up around dinner time. He found me studying my chart, which I'd made out of several sheets of hotel stationary, taped together on the wall. "Was I out long?"

Looking at him, I said, "About four hours."

He sat up. "That long?" Cas stood and crossed to where I was standing. "What have you made here?"

"A chart. It's what we know about Theresa and her son so far."

"Hm." Castiel read over my chart.

_Paul Callan, born to Theresa Callan and Deadbeat Dad, 1973.  
Theresa dies, early 1978  
Paul is 5  
Theresa - Catholic, attends church with Father Calero  
Calero has the healing rosary  
Do NOT mention Paul or true cause of illness!_

There were a few other minor details about Theresa written there, things I wanted to remember to make it easier for me to work my way into her life. Of course, it would be a lot more pleasant a task if she actually liked me, and I liked her. At the time, I wasn't thinking at all what would happen once this was over if we had developed real feelings for each other. All I could think about was how spunky and cute she was. "And I can hide it behind the curtain. See?" I had put the chart between two narrow windows; the drapes went across both windows and the wall between them, so they hid my chart nicely.

"Very good. Anything new we learn, we add it to the chart. Now, let me see all the bills in your wallet."

"Oh, you're worried about the year on them, aren't you?"

"Yes..." Castiel took the dollar bills I handed him.

"I already paid with a twenty from 2006. Do you think it will cause a problem? Because I bet they'd believe the bill was misprinted."

"Or they'll think you're a counterfeiter." Waving his hand over each bill, Castiel whispered something in Enochian. When he handed them back to me, they all said Series 1968 on them.

"Well, at least it was just one bill. I can probably con my way out of one misprinted bill," I assured him.

Castiel nodded and gave me a slight smile. "If you have to."

"Yeah. Maybe they didn't notice it." I checked my watch. "It's about dinner time. Maybe I can catch Theresa before she leaves for the night, invite her out to eat."

"Sam, there's something else you need to know about her."

"What?"

"Do you know what an empath is?" he asked.

I knew a little about it. "That's a person who can sense how other people are feeling just by being near them, or by forging a psychic link with them."

"Yes." Although I should have followed his line of thinking, what Cas said next still came as a surprise to me. "Theresa Callan is an empath."

"Oh... okay."

"You must be careful around her, Sam. If you're not, she may sense that you have an ulterior motive. Make yourself believe that you're not acting here, that you really want to spend time with Theresa, or she may never trust you." He noticed that I was smiling down at my feet. "What?"

"Uh... that won't be a problem, because I really do want to spend time with her," I admitted sheepishly. "She's pretty cute."

Cas furrowed his brow. "Tread lightly here, Sam. Her empathy is projective as well."

"Projective?"

"We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she has some projective ability. It's like being around someone who is in a very good mood, and you start to feel happy too. But a projective empath is much better at it than that. Theresa may be able to affect your emotions quite strongly. In fact, some projective empaths can attack you on a psychic level, forcing emotions on you that you had no intention of feeling."

That was troubling. "Is that something she could do without me knowing?"

"You? No. You would know, because you have latent psychic ability as well. The average person would have no idea, but you... that's part of the reason why you're perfect for this job," Cas explained.

Ah, it seemed the pieces were falling into place. "So she couldn't have made me feel attracted to her without my knowledge."

Castiel shook his head. "No. But Theresa's abilities could enhance your general mood."

Maybe that explained why we'd both become so giddy in each other's presence. Her attraction, my attraction, all reverberating between us like sound off acoustical tile. "I understand."

"Then let's get going."

On my way down to the lobby, I wondered if her being an empath had anything to do with her son becoming so important to the world. I concluded that it probably did. Theresa was special; she produced a special child.

And of course, as I would find out, Paul's father had something to do with that as well.

The hotel had a theme. It was called The Millstone; there were millstones everywhere, in the lobby, out front, all engraved with the name of the hotel. They were sort of like statues, made of tan and white speckled marble. I stood and looked at the one near the front desk, in the middle of a large fountain with plants and flowers around it, and thought how much more attractive the whole scene would be if it wasn't surrounded by a lobby done in those horrible 1970's colors. I mean, avocado green chairs? Burnt orange and brown diamonds painted on the walls in between typical hotel lobby paintings? Who decided on this decorating scheme, demons? They must've possessed a bunch of interior decorators and had a good laugh at our expense once it caught on. Absolutely hideous.

There was a different clerk behind the front desk. I hoped Theresa hadn't left already.

In a decorative window leading into the lounge and bar, I saw a sign that read BUSBOY WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. If I could get that job, it'd be perfect - not only would I have spending money, but I'd be working close to Theresa. Sometimes, we had to put more time into a case than usual. Some cases only took a few days. Others, a few months. I figured this would be one of those cases that could take a while. I mean, if I had been raised in a normal environment, and some guy came out of nowhere and tried to tell me that wearing a rosary would cure my cancer, I'd probably think he was crazy. But if I trusted that man when he said it to me, if I _knew_ that man... I might feel differently about it.

I would apply for the job.

Between trying to figure out what my new birth year was for the application and getting used to the taste of Tab soda, the bartender asked me, "Are you Sam?"

Looking at him with what must've been a bewildered expression, I replied, "Yeah?"

"Ah, I knew it," he laughed. "Theresa was talking about you."

My face must've lit up with recognition, because he grinned widely at me. "Theresa was in here?"

"Yeah. Said she met the tallest guy she'd ever seen today, named Sam. If that's not you, I'm scared to see who else is gonna walk in here."

We both had a good laugh over that one. I'm a Sasquatch; I'm used to it. "Yeah, that's me. Where is she now?"

"Uh, I think she's sitting out by the pool, at Slade's Tiki Hut," he said. "She was feeling kind of bad."

I played dumb. "Is she sick?"

He got a grave look on his face. "Going through chemo. Poor kid's got cancer."

"Ohhh." My face reflected the appropriate amount of shock at hearing something awful that I wasn't supposed to already know. "That's horrible."

"Why don't you go out there and see if you can cheer her up?" The bartender grinned again, like he knew something. "I think she kinda likes you."

I grinned back. "That sounds like a great idea. But first, I gotta finish my application."

I'm ashamed to say I had to count backwards on my fingers. My new birth year should be 1951.

The bartender, whose name turned out to be Bo, furrowed his brow at my application. "You're younger than you look," he said, and put it under the bar. "You just get into town? You put the hotel's address here."

I explained that yes, I had just gotten into town and had no place to live currently but the hotel; that's why I needed the job so bad. Bo nodded at my story.

"I have to talk to the boss first, but we'll call your room once we make a decision, okay? Stay available. She may want you to come in for an interview real soon."

Grateful, I shook his hand. "Thanks, Bo."

"No problem, kid."

On my way out, a bright pinkish-red advertising sign caught my eye. _TaB,_ it said. _Where There's TaB, There's Refreshment._ Wow, this crap was popular back then.

Another millstone statue sat atop a large pedestal in the middle of the pool. The sun had gone down, so it was lit up with spotlights, and the lights under the water had come on too. A couple families lounged next to the pool or in the hot tub; some kids were laughing and throwing a beach ball back and forth through the hole in the middle of the millstone. Not all the stones had a hole in the middle, but this one had been designed with one, probably because it framed the hotel nicely behind it.

Theresa was sitting at Slade's Tiki Hut, a little bar next to the pool that had been done up with a Hawaiian motif, complete with that special grass they use for the skirts all over the walls and roof and leis hanging from every corner. She was hunched over on her stool, hands shielding her eyes, some sort of drink in front of her.

She looked miserable.

The man behind the bar, of course, wore a Hawaiian shirt. He was wiping down the bar as I approached, although he seemed to be avoiding Theresa's general area. A little statue of a woman in a Hawaiian skirt sat near the tip jar; she wobbled her hips as I took a seat on the stool two away from Theresa's. "Hey there, you okay?"

She looked over at me from under her hands. Theresa's face lit up considerably. "Hey, you! How'd you find me?"

"Bo said you'd be out here."

She smiled at the man behind the bar. "Does Bo know me or what? Knows I can't resist your special headache remedy."

The man, who just went by his last name, Slade, gave a small smile of acknowledgement. He was a quiet, gruff man, but a good one.

Lowering her arms, Theresa thumped my knee with the back of her hand. "I'm in a little trouble because of that twenty you gave me. My boss thinks it's counterfeit."

Again, I did something I would have to get used to doing: I played dumb. "Counterfeit? Why?"

"Because the year on it is 2006," she laughed.

"2006? That's crazy!"

"I swear on a stack of Bibles, that's what it says! And the Secretary of the Treasury is wrong, and the Treasurer... it's so weird. I feel like such an idiot, I didn't even notice."

"I got it from a gas station. I hope it's not fake. You know, I bet it's some sort of misprint. Here, let me straighten it out. I can give you a new one that I know is good." Getting out my wallet, I pawed through the bills, looking for my new 1968 angel-cloaked twenty.

"Oh, gee, thanks so much, Sam." Laughing, Theresa took the bill. "I'll take this to my boss before I leave."

"Are you okay?" I asked. "When I came up, you looked like you didn't feel well."

"I've got a headache," she replied. "And I'm a little nauseous."

"Um, Bo kinda mentioned that you were going through chemotherapy. I'm really sorry that you're sick."

Theresa seemed almost embarrassed about it. "Yeah, me too," she joked. "Going through radiation also. Can't say it's fun. It's why I'm on half-days right now, and short term disability." Theresa tried to put a positive spin on it. "But I'm going to come back from all this. The doctor says my tumor seems to be shrinking."

"Hey, that's great!" I suddenly wondered if CAT-scans and MRI's had been invented yet. Something told me I shouldn't bring it up just yet, what the doctor was using to monitor her condition. Not until I'd had time to do some research. Some slow, Internet-less research. "When I was a kid, I'd get sick sometimes - you know how childhood can be, always throwing up for some reason, and my brother would go get me 7-Up. Our dad said room temperature 7-Up was great for a nauseous stomach."

She giggled. "Really? I've never tried that."

"He swore by it." I remembered some of those times. Dean was usually the one to take care of me when I was sick, when our dad wasn't around. "Ginger ale is good too." A smile came to my face at another good memory. "A sick kid gets bored really easily, you know, so while Dean was at the store, he'd get me these paper construction books. They were sort of like paper dolls, except they were little miniature buildings or a circus with animals or something. You'd punch them out and match tab A to tab B, and when you were done, you had a little city, or the whole circus with the tent... I loved those things. Entertained me for hours."

I realized Theresa was just looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "That's so sweet," she said. "Dean is your brother?"

"Yeah. He's... not here. He's kinda far away right now."

"I bet you miss 'im."

I nodded. "Yes. But we'll be reunited eventually."

Now she nodded. "I've seen those paper construction books in the dime store. They're great for little kids."

It made me wonder if Paul liked them too. I'd have to get him some, for when he came home, I thought.

"Well, I better go before it gets too late."

"Be careful, Theresa," Slade said. "A guest got mugged a couple blocks from here the other night."

"Really? Oh... I don't like the sound of that."

Jumping up from my stool, I offered her my arm. "I'll walk you home," I said.

Theresa grinned at me. "Okay." She wrapped her arm in mine. "A mugger would have to be insane to try anything with you."

We both laughed over that. It gave me a happy little tingle, to know she had noticed how big I was. It seemed to make her feel safe with me.

Turns out Theresa lived about five blocks from the hotel. Not a bad walk, but she usually took the bus on days when she was "feeling lazy." On our way there, we talked some more, first about music. Theresa said she loved The Eagles.

"They show a lot of promise," she remarked.

It seemed like a strange thing to say for a band that had been around for, what, six years at that time? But maybe she had just discovered them. "My brother likes The Eagles. Especially with Joe Walsh."

"Joe Walsh?" she questioned. I could see her face in the light of a streetlamp we passed, and she looked bewildered. "The guitarist for The James Gang?"

When had Joe Walsh joined The Eagles, anyway? Had I just made a time blunder? I tried to shrug it off. "I guess I was thinking of someone else."

We walked on. Theresa talked about her love for Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, her two favorite bands ever. Oh, would she and Dean ever get along musically.

As we neared her building, I asked, "Does anyone ever call you Terry?"

"Ah... my mom did. But it kind of makes me uncomfortable now."

"Oh." I wanted to ask her where her parents were, but it seemed too soon in our friendship. Obviously, they weren't around at some point, or they would have taken Paul in when Theresa died. "Is it okay if I come up with a nickname for you?"

She looked at me, a little confused. "If you want to, I suppose... but what other nickname is there for Theresa besides Terry?"

I just grinned. I already had one. "Once, on this TV show called 'Unsolved Mysteries,' they had a story on there about a guy who was married to a woman named Theresa. He called her Tress. I always thought it was really pretty." When I glanced down at her, I noticed she was looking up at me, smiling. Then I realized that at some point, she had taken my hand. We were holding hands. "Can I call you that?" I asked.

Her smile widened; she really seemed to like the sound of it. "Tress. That _is_ pretty. Sure. Sure, you can call me that."

We just looked at each other for a moment, walking slowly to draw out our time together. At least, that's what I was doing.

Then she asked me another one of those questions that made me want to smack myself in the forehead. "I've never heard of 'Unsolved Mysteries.' Is it good? What channel does it come on?"

"Oh! Uh..." _It doesn't come on any channel, not until 1987._ "It's pretty boring most of the time. Comes on one of those UHF channels no one watches. Their signal is so weak, I can hardly get it to come in half the time."

"Oh."

Nice save. Of course, it wouldn't last long.

"I'm always having to miss my favorite shows because of work," Tress remarked. "I work mornings most of the time, and all the good soaps come on in the morning."

"Why don't you just tape them?" I asked. _Bonk!_ in the forehead again.

"Tape them?"

Crap. Had video cassette recorders been invented yet? I thought they had, but maybe she couldn't afford one. Better not to take the chance that I was making another time faux pas. "Um, yeah... with a tape recorder?"

"Well... I guess I could, but it's just not the same without the pictures."

 _Phew._ I was going to have to get better at remembering what year it was.

When we got to the front of her building, I think she was about to say good-bye, but there was a guy standing on the front steps who wouldn't stop staring at us. It seemed to spook her. I wondered if he was one of the demons. "Do you want to come up for a minute?" Tress asked me.

"Sure." Walking her past the man, I gave him a squinty-eyed look.

Her apartment was small and cute, a tidy one-bedroom with crucifixes on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there was a little statue of an angel or Jesus or the Virgin Mary; they didn't overwhelm the space, but there were a lot of them, watching over her place. Dean and I had never been super religious - Dad didn't take us to church regularly - but I did still believe in God and I did still pray every day, no matter what had happened. Dad had definitely taught us the value of a good religious artifact in the fight against evil. Tress was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of... this is going to make me sound like an asshole. She was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of being no fun. Sorry if that's offensive. It's just, some people can be so religious that they let it take all the joy out of their lives. No music, no dancing, no sex, no merry-making, everything's evil. Tress wasn't like that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but...

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I noticed a small box of children's toys in the corner. It was the only evidence that she had a child at all. It made me feel bad for her, that Paul was far from home, and how it must make her feel to look at those unused toys. There wasn't a single photograph of Paul to be seen; I surmised that it must hurt to look at them right now. The only picture I saw was a black and white one on an end table, a mom and dad with their little daughter.

"You have a cute place here," I said, smiling at her.

Tress put down her purse. "My first home. The Millstone is my second." Suddenly, she cringed and put a hand to her temple.

That was the first time I felt her projective empathy. There was a twinge of pain in my head, but I could clearly tell it wasn't mine. It felt hollow, like an echo off a vast mountain chain. Didn't even really hurt me - it was sort of like a message reverberating through my head, telling me Tress was hurting. "Are you okay?" I asked, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.

Then the pain was gone.

Tress shook it off. "Yeah, I'm alright. My pain medication is wearing off. Time for another dose."

"I should probably go, let you get some rest."

"Yeah. Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at me, and a smirk crossed her lips. I loved that naughty little look every time she gave it to me. "I'm not working tomorrow. Just gonna come to The Millstone and sit out by the pool for a while. You should join me."

The pool? I would have to get a bathing suit. It wasn't like Castiel told me to bring one. "Sounds like a lot of fun." Hey, it was like mid-summer outside; why not? "Will you be there around lunchtime?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, we can have lunch at Slade's. The menu on the wall said he has Hawaiian Burgers there. I'd like to know what a Hawaiian Burger tastes like."

Tress laughed. "You're gonna love it." For a second, we just stared at each other, and it was one of those moments where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Women get a certain look in their eyes. When I leaned over and moved my mouth toward hers, she leaned in too, and our lips came together in a sweet little kiss. I'll never forget that first touch of her lips to mine. The chasteness of it went right to my heart.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and she let me out. We were both grinning like idiots.

Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "What happened?" he asked.

Lying on the bed, I folded my arms under my head and just smiled up at the ceiling. "We've got a lunch date for tomorrow."

"You and Theresa?"

"No, you and me, silly. Yes, me and Theresa."

"Good." Castiel had his coats on again. "Try to get yourself invited to church soon."

"I will." With a contented sigh, I started babbling. "I've got to go get a bathing suit in the morning. She wants to laze around by the pool. I wonder what she looks like in a bathing suit. Hmmmm. I feel bad that she can't have her child with her right now - there wasn't a single picture of Paul anywhere in the - "

I finally realized that Castiel was gone.

Oh well. Before getting ready for bed, I just laid there a while longer and daydreamed of how nice our date was going to be. Just me and Tress, getting to know each other better. How often was a case that enjoyable?


	3. Paper Tiger

**Chapter 3: Paper Tiger**  
Words: 3,740

 

The next morning, I went to a clothing store and bought a bathing suit and a nice pair of pants for my job interview, then swung by the library to look up a few things about diagnosing brain tumors. All of their books were woefully out of date - not a single one was published after 1970. This researching without the Internet thing was for the birds.

When I got back to the room, I saw that Castiel had returned. He was lying down again. My bag sat on the foot of the bed. "You should have just given me time to get it before we came here in the first place," I scolded. "Then you wouldn't of had to go back."

He just grunted in reply.

"By the way, who are you working for? You rebelled, and the other angels want the Apocalypse to happen. Who told you about Paul Callan being this great key to saving the world?"

"Not all angels want the Apocalypse to take place," he mumbled. "Joshua contacted me."

"So... God may be getting involved again?"

"It's possible. But Joshua would not extend to me that information."

I had to take a little time to mull that over. "Is Paul also descended from Biblical folk?"

"Yes."

"Why is he so important, Cas?"

Castiel did not answer me.

"Cas?"

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be asleep.

While changing my clothes, I wondered if it was really fair to save Paul's mother simply so he would say yes to whomever his possessing angel was when the time came. But then I remembered how wonderful it would be for him to be able to grow up with his mom in relative safety, and I didn't doubt that it was the right thing to do. For Paul to be so important, he must be the vessel of a very powerful angel, and maybe that angel would also be a merciful one. Even the archangel Michael had promised that he would leave Dean in the same condition in which he found him. Perhaps the one that would possess Paul could do the same thing.

I certainly didn't have any conflicted feelings over saving Tress. Whatever happened after that would be left up to chance.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I brushed my hair, wondering what kind of guys Tress liked. She hadn't seen me without a shirt yet. In the past, people had remarked that sometimes you couldn't tell how muscular I was from the front, in clothes. But now, in only a bathing suit, my bulk would be laid out for all to see. I hoped she would like it.

Tress was already there, sitting on one of the stools at Slade's bar, turned backward toward the pool and her elbows resting on the counter behind her, legs crossed. She looked incredible in a blue one-piece with yellow flowers on it. The leg she had on top bobbled playfully, a flip-flop dangling from her toes. As she was wearing the wig again, I wondered if Tress would be able to go into the pool.

"Hey you," I said as I approached.

She hadn't noticed me coming up. When Tress looked at me, I saw her eyes widen and got my second taste of her projective empathy. A wave of desire passed over her, echoing in my head. It made me smile.

"Well, hellooo~ooo Sam," Tress said. Her eyes passed up and down my chest. "You, you're... I had no idea you were this buff," she added, eyes still wide. Then they narrowed in uncertainty. "Why do you have a pentagram on your chest?"

"This?" I indicated the tattoo. "It's a ward against possession by evil spirits."

"A pentagram?"

"Yeah, see..." As I explained, I ran my finger over the lines of the tattoo. "The star point is up, which makes it a positive symbol."

"Oh..." Tress tilted her head one way and then the other. "Not if you look at it this way."

"Trust me, it's supposed to be pointing up." I leaned in the same direction her head was going. "See?"

She chuckled at me. "If you say so."

Moving a little closer to her, I ran my finger under the chain of the silver crucifix around her neck. "It's not that different from how Satanists invert crosses to make them symbols of evil. They do the same with pentagrams." There's a lot more to it than that, but we hadn't known each other long enough to get into some sort of long philosophical discussion about religion.

"Oh. Still, you don't think a lot of people are going to stare at you with that thing out? Although they..." Tress ran a hand through the light smattering of hair on my chest. "...they might be too distracted by the..." Her eyes caressed the defined muscles of my stomach. "Um... hoo..."

The sexual desire coming off of her hit me hard enough to send a tingle up my back. "I'm used to people staring at me," I said quietly. "You have noticed that I'm 6'5"?"

"Uh, yeah... I had noticed that." Tress just stared at me for a moment, running an errant finger along the lines of my chest.

Teasing her, I said, "Tress, my eyes are up here."

She looked up sharply, caught, and began to giggle with embarrassment. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm just not used to seeing many guys around here who work out as much as you."

I just grinned at her. "You've got a few nice curves yourself."

Over her shoulder, I noticed Slade making a face of discomfort. The phrase 'Get a room' hadn't been coined yet, so instead he said, "You guys know I'm here, right?"

We both began to laugh. "Sorry, Slade. But even you can see how cut this guy is," she said.

"I've got eyes," he replied in a gruff, annoyed tone.

I had to smile again. He's a funny old guy.

Changing the subject, Tress went into a canvas bag beside her and pulled out a thin cardboard book. "Got you something," she said with a grin, and turned it around.

It was one of those paper construction books I had been talking about the night before. A cardboard zoo. I began to laugh. "Oh, thank you. You're a mess, you know that?"

"I saw it in the store and couldn't resist." She laughed too. When I took the book and started to flip through it, Tress giggled, "You are actually going to take that thing up to your room and put it together, aren't you?"

"I don't know... I just might."

She gave me a playful shove. "Now who's the mess?"

We left our towels and other things in front of Slade's and prepared to go in the pool. "I have to make sure I don't go under the water," Tress cautioned. "This will..." She pointed to her head. "I'm not sure it'll, um, stay on if I..."

I leaned in and whispered close to her ear, "It's okay, I know it's a wig."

Her face turned crimson with an embarrassed blush.

In response, I added, "It's okay. Nothing to be embarrassed about," and gave her sides a little tickle.

Tress couldn't help but giggle at the touch. "Is it really that obvious?"

"No, but, you're going through chemo and radiation, so... I just kind of knew."

Self-consciously, she touched her head, running her fingers through the wig. "My real hair was just like this."

I saw tears come to her eyes, ones she held back. I could only imagine how hard it must be for a woman to lose a full head of beautiful hair. "It must've been gorgeous, then."

That made her smile at me with a little sniffle.

Although I knew it was a cliché thing to say, I couldn't help assuring her, "It'll grow back."

"I know."

I didn't want to make her cry. In an effort to distract Tress from the depressing subject we'd gotten on, I held up a bottle of sunblock. "Will you put some on my back?"

That hungry, aroused look came to her eyes again. "Certainly."

It was obvious we were both extremely attracted to each other. Not only did it make getting my task completed easier for me, but it was plenty nice, too!

I took the opportunity to put some sunblock on her back as well before we got into the pool. While doing that, I also massaged some into her shoulders and the back of her neck. Tress simply moved her hair out of the way and allowed me to do it, enjoying it tremendously. I know that not only from the relaxed little moans she was letting out, but from her empathy, which washed over me in waves every few seconds. We both must've looked like we were totally high. Once we got in the pool, Tress stayed close to the side where she didn't have to worry so much about being splashed or her head getting dunked underwater. We watched kids playing, racing each other from one end of the pool to the other, and I had to resist the urge to ask her about Paul. It probably would just make her cry anyway, I thought. But it did somehow get me on the subject of what had happened to her parents.

"Oh, my dad passed away a couple years ago," Tress said. The sadness in her eyes touched me. "A lot of messed up things happened around the time of his death, and because of that, my mom and I don't really talk much anymore. I try to be a good Christian and forgive, but... it's hard to forgive someone who isn't sorry."

Paddling closer to her, I put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Tress."

"It's okay. I have my family here now." She indicated Slade and the other employees. "And my church family. My mom lives on the other side of the state, so we don't attend the same one."

Church. She brought up church. It was a perfect opportunity. "I really want to meet some more local people. Can I go to church with you this Sunday?"

That seemed to make Tress happier than anything else I'd said that day. "I'd love it if you'd come. You can meet Father Beresford and Father Calero, and everyone in the choir..."

Father Calero. He was the main person I wanted to meet.

"What about your parents?" she asked me then.

I answered her question by not lying, but not telling the whole truth either. "My mom was killed in a house fire when I was still a baby. And my dad passed away about four years ago. His heart just... stopped beating."

"Oh, I'm really sorry, Sam. Both of your parents, gone... that must be tough."

"Sometimes. But still having Dean makes it easier."

"Is it money that's keeping your brother from coming here?"

Now this one, I had to lie. The truth just wasn't an option. "Yeah. That's why I really hope I get this job at the hotel bar."

"The busboy job?" Tress said. "I hope you get it; then we could see each other almost every day."

"Yeah, that'd be wonderful," I replied.

"It would?"

The coy, hopeful little look on her face when she said that... I couldn't resist moving in close to her, my hands holding onto the pool edge on either side of Tress's head. She gave me that same look she had given me in her apartment the night before, the one that said she wanted me to kiss her. "Yeah, it would," I said, and kissed her on the lips.

It was a much longer, more passionate kiss this time. The aroused, contented feelings coming off her put me in a state of weightlessness; I couldn't have told you how long we actually kissed. A few seconds? A year?

The mood was broken when the kids started hooting at us. "Oooooooh!" they crooned. "Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy!" *

"Kids, leave them alone," a woman snapped.

Tress and I both laughed to ourselves, just floating and looking at each other. "I know we just met and everything, but I'm really attracted to you, Sam," she said, and leaned forward to give me a peck on the mouth.

My grin must've been a mile wide. "I like you too, Tress. A lot."

We didn't say anything for a few moments, content to just look. She began tracing her finger over the lines of my tattoo. "So, what do you know about evil spirits?" Tress asked.

Immediately, I thought this line of questioning was about the demons surrounding her. Did she want to talk about it? The best thing I thought I could do would be to approach the subject as casually as possible. "After my mom died, my father became obsessed with the idea that the fire had been caused by an evil spirit. He did all kinds of research on it for years and, you know, you just pick a few things up."

Her eyes looked sad in reaction to that; I'm not sure if it was because she felt sorry for me, talking about my mother's death again, or if it was her own troubles that disturbed her. "Do you believe in stuff like that?"

"To an extent," I replied. It was far too early in our relationship to tell her the whole truth.

"I was raised Catholic, and after all I've read in the Bible, and experienced, and felt..." Tress looked at me seriously. "...I believe in some of it. Angels, and demons... I think they really do exist. Is that crazy?"

"No, not at all." Oh, she had no clue how much I believed in angels and demons...

When she just smiled at me a little, I added, "If you ever want to talk more about this subject, I'm totally open, okay? You should talk to my friend Cas first, though. He's very... knowledgeable."

"Is that the guy in the trench coat?"

"Yeah." I cobbled together a full name for him. "Cas Novak. He's the one who convinced me to come here." Wow, it was amazing how much I could tell her without really lying!

"Well, I'm glad he did," Tress said, and leaned in for another knee-melting kiss.

Yeah, we did really like each other. A whole lot.

After tossing a beach ball around, we got out and wrapped up in towels to have lunch at Slade's. It was very good, and gave us more opportunity to joke and laugh and hold hands on the countertop while we shared an ice cream sundae. I'd say it was a perfect afternoon.

"Can I see you again tonight?" I asked. I just wanted the day to go on forever.

"No, I'm sorry, but I'm babysitting Michelle's kids after six." Tress gestured to the hotel. "She's one of the other front desk clerks."

"Oh, okay."

She instantly added, "But you can come over if you want to. Help me wrangle them for a couple hours. There's two of them."

Another one of those satisfied grins beamed across my face. "I'd love to."

We parted ways shortly after. Tress's parting comment as she walked away with her bag flung over her shoulder was, "Enjoy your zoo!"

I just laughed at her. That naughty little grin would be the death of me.

Again, Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "A man left a message for you," he said, and pointed to the blinking light on the phone.

"Oh, thanks." It was a message from Bo. His boss wanted me to come in for an interview the next morning at nine. After calling him back to confirm, I set the phone in its cradle and sat there grinning. "Everything's falling into place."

"Did you get invited to church?" Castiel asked.

"Sure did. And I'm going over there tonight, just to hang out." For a second, I thought Cas might scold me for seeing her so much, being that this was supposed to be just a rescue mission, but he said nothing. "Cas, today she asked me if I believe in supernatural stuff, like demons. I think she wants to talk about what's happening to her."

Cas gave me one of his serious looks in return. "No, Sam. You must not talk about those things with her. Alright? It's very dangerous."

"I know, but..."

"I acknowledge that you may want to talk with her about the demons because it might ease her mind." He stood right in front of me now, that same intense expression on his face. "But you must discourage such conversation. Do you understand how dangerous it would be, Sam?"

Sheepishly, I nodded my head. "Yeah..."

"Why did she bring it up anyway?"

"Tress saw my tattoo." As I was still dressed in a bathing suit and a towel, I indicated the symbol on my chest.

"Tress?"

Sheepishly, I explained, "That's my nickname for her."

Again, I thought he would scold me for getting too close to her. Castiel just looked down at me and said, "Oh," and then went back to the window, to gaze out at the birds flying by.

*****

I brought my cardboard zoo to Tress's place that night.

Michelle's kids loved helping me put it together. Tress sat cross-legged in our little circle and taped down the occasional tab, but mostly just watched me and the kids with a grin on her face. She seemed a little tired.

The children played with Paul's toys. That surprised me until I really considered it. I thought maybe it would be too painful for her to watch other kids play with her little boy's things, but then it occurred to me that it might be a way for her to pretend that Paul was still there, to live vicariously through taking care of other people's children. It made me want to hold her worse than anything, to know what pain she must be in.

Michelle picked the kids up a little after nine. It didn't take long at all for us to realize we were completely alone.

Tress sat next to me on the couch. I noticed that she had one of the little cardboard animals in her hand. "You were so cute when you were building that zoo with the kids," she said. The paper zoo still sat on the floor, spread out over a small area in front of the television. Tress held up the cardboard animal. "This one's a tiger. It's my favorite." She playfully made it bound up my arm. "Rrrraaarr!"

Snickering, I grabbed her by the waist and started to tickle her sides without mercy. Tress giggled, pretending she wanted me to stop by struggling lightly, but it was really more play-wrestling. Within seconds, she had wound up on my lap, straddling me, with one hand inside the neck of my shirt. One look and we were kissing with more passion than ever, Tress letting out a squeal of arousal.

I've never felt anything like heavy petting on empathy. Her lust, my lust, all of it reverberating from her head to mine and back again -- very intense. If Tress had let me, I would have gladly made love to her for hours. It was no secret that I desperately wanted her and she wanted me.

Her moving hand caused two of the buttons on my shirt to pop open, and then she was reaching inside, rubbing my upper chest. I took this as a flimsy form of permission to run my hand over one of her breasts, teasing what responded. Tress moaned into my mouth. Everything moved very fast after that. While still kissing, I laid her down on the couch on her back and partially unbuttoned her shirt. My fingers found a bra strap and pulled it down, and I dipped my head down, kissing her breast. Sucking until she moaned again.

This was when she pushed me away. "Wait, Sam, wait," Tress panted.

Immediately I took my weight off of her, bracing myself on the back of the couch. "I'm sorry," I said, though I'm not sure what I was apologizing for.

"No, I... I don't mean to tease you or anything. I want to, _really_ want to, but we just met, and..."

"Oh, no, it's okay, it's okay." We were both very worked up, but I sat back against the opposite arm of the couch until she had fixed her shirt, covering herself up again.

Eventually, Tress leaned over and gave me a peck on the lips. "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe after we've dated for a while..."

"I have no expectations," I replied. And it was true; I would take whatever she would give me until she was ready for us to go to bed together. The idea that Tress would make me wait just turned me on more, made me want her more. Women often have no idea the power that has over a man.

"Thank you for being so understanding. I'm not trying to be rude or anything, but I think you should go before I lose all control and just ravage you right here and now."

I chuckled, rebuttoning my shirt. "Well, it probably is better if I leave then, you sex maniac."

Tress smacked my arm. The look in her eyes told me she had to make a great effort not to jump on me, like that hungry cardboard tiger she'd been teasing me with. I gathered my things and went to the door.

We parted with one last kiss. "See you soon," I said before I turned and left.

Tress was still panting. From the feelings I gleaned off her from her empathy, it had taken a great deal of control for her to send me away.

I was overjoyed to have the hotel room to myself when I got back. After that, I definitely needed some "alone" time.

 

* _Author's Note: My sister and I used to say this phrase all the time as kids when we saw people kissing on TV ("Gettin' hot 'n' heavy with the hot 'n' heavy."). I really can't remember if it's something we made up or got from a TV show. For some reason, I keep thinking of Barbarino from "Welcome Back Kotter"..._ XD


	4. The Riddle

**Chapter 4: The Riddle**  
Words: 4,143

 

I got the busboy job the next morning. They gave me a very nice deal - one dollar less per hour for a free room and free meals in the diner. It would do me well for the time that I'd be there.

Tress and I saw each other in the lobby and I made a beeline for her so I could tell her about getting the job. She ducked her head sheepishly.

"Hey Tress, I got the job!"

Instantly, her head came up. "Oh, Sam, that's wonderful!" We shared a brief hug, which she seemed to pull away from, and again ducked her head.

"What's wrong, Tress?" I asked.

"I, um..." She smiled, obviously embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Sam, I just feel so bad about last night. I shouldn't have let you get that far, I mean..." Tress opened her blazer on one side as if she was flashing me. "I let you do that and then I pushed you away... makes me feel like such a tease."

Shaking my head, I replied, "Stop it. You're not a tease. You're just a sensible woman with self-control."

"Oh, but, you have no idea just how much I wanted to." A sudden grin spread across her face, and she looked away again. Her cheeks flushed pink.

I grinned too. "Honey, we both want to," I whispered to her. Tress giggled, a hand to her mouth. "But you're right. We should wait."

"Wait for what?" she chuckled.

"Until it feels right."

"Somehow, I'll know?" Her arms slipped around my neck.

"Yeah. And so will I," I said, being coy.

Giving my shoulder a light smack, Tress asked, "Are you saying that it's not all up to me?"

I raised my chin in mock indignation. "A man in this day and age has to make the right choice on when to start having sex. He can't just jump into it."

As I said, 'when to start having sex,' she began to giggle, looking around, and shushed me. "Someone will hear you!"

"Oh come on, like they can't tell I'm crazy about you," I replied, picking her up in my arms. We both laughed into a kiss.

Yes, we were nauseatingly cute.

But it was true, that there was an instant attraction. Whether it be natural chemistry spurred on by an empathy overload or just horniness, we were both in those beginning stages of a relationship where we didn't want to keep our hands to ourselves.

The best thing was, Tress had her last treatment the Friday after we met. She was supposed to go back in a couple weeks to have another test to see if the tumor had reacted to this latest round of chemo and radiation, and it made us both very hopeful. Late in the afternoon, I found Tress sitting in the bar, yawning and taking little bites of some plain crackers.

"Why don't you go home and go to bed, woman?" I asked her.

"That's a good idea," she said, and left me with a little kiss on the mouth.

Part of my job consisted of collecting the dirty glasses from around the pool and bringing them back to the bar where they could be washed. If they belonged to Slade, I brought them back to him after they were cleaned (his glasses had a different logo on them, so it wasn't at all hard to tell which ones were his). That night, I had a very enlightening encounter with a couple of the hotel guests.

A blonde woman in a white one-piece bathing suit lay on one of the lounging chairs next to the pool, her arm draped across her forehead. She was wearing a pair of sunglasses. Even though I couldn't see her eyes, I could tell that she was tired just from her body language. Her son, who looked about ten years old, sat at Slade's counter eating his dinner and working on puzzles out of a children's book of riddles and crosswords. While collecting dirty glasses from Slade, I caught a glimpse of the boy's face as he looked up at me and I had to look back and stare. It wasn't often that I saw eyes that shade of blue.

"Uh, hi," I said. "What have you got there?"

"A book of riddles and such," the boy replied. He had a thick European accent that didn't sound like it came from England, but somewhere in Great Britain. Could it be...?

"Oh, I like riddles. You have a very interesting accent; where are you from?"

"Scotland," he said. "My family and I are here because my father is attending a physician's conference. We came with him this time for a family vacation. I really like Boston - I may come back here someday." I was already beginning to suspect what he said next. "My name is Alva Keel. What's your name?"

"Sam. Is that your mom?" I gestured toward the blonde on the lounging chair.

"Yes. Do you think you may have the answer to this riddle? It's been giving me trouble."

"I might. What is it?" Putting my tub of glasses on the counter, I leaned on one of the stools and listened as Alva read out of the book.

"What can you see with the naked eye, weighs nothing, and if you put it in a barrel, the barrel will get lighter?"

I thought I'd heard that one before, but the answer escaped me at that moment. "Hmmm... that's a good one..."

"Maybe it's fire," he said. "A fire would reduce a barrel to ash. But... fire involves combustion of gases, and they have mass. I don't think that's it."

Even as a child, Alva Keel was a smart little guy. I joked, "I bet it's light. Make the barrel 'lighter,' ha, ha."

He gave it serious thought. "That's funny, but it can't be right. Light consists of energy, and we know from physics that anything with energy also has mass."

With a little laugh, I agreed with him. He was such a serious child. "No, it can't be light."

In the waning summer evening sun, I watched his eyes as the excitement of discovering the answer came into them. "A hole! It's a hole!"

I nodded. "You can see it with the naked eye, it doesn't weigh anything, and if you put it in a barrel..." Miming the liquid contents of a barrel pouring out on the floor, I imitated what it would sound like ("Gluck, gluck, gluck, gluck"), and we both laughed.

"Here's another one. I've already figured it out." Alva read from the book. "Homeless people have it. Rich people don't have it. And if you eat it, you'll die."

I thought about that one so long that Alva asked me, "Do you give up?"

"No... not yet."

Although I worked my way through several possible answers, after a minute, I had to give in. "I don't know. What is it?"

"Nothing," he said with a grin.

"Nothing?" I considered that. Oh, yeah... _nothing._ "You really stumped me with that one."

"It's kind of a sad riddle. Homeless people with nothing and all."

"Yeah." At times, I forgot I was speaking to a child. But at that moment, with him swinging his legs like a typical little boy, I remembered. "So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

He had an immediate answer; in fact, he had several of them. "A surgeon, a linguist, a college professor, and a priest."

"Wow, that's a lot! How are you going to do all those things?"

"I'm very smart. My mother always says so."

"I can see that." I couldn't even tell you why it occurred to me, but I thought that this little boy certainly was intelligent, maybe even intelligent enough to help me figure out my own riddles. "You know, Alva, I have a dilemma, and you're so smart that I wonder if you wouldn't be able to offer a helpful opinion."

"What is it?"

"It's sort of a riddle, but not exactly. What if you knew someone who was in a bad situation, and you had information that might help them, actually make their life better, but telling them that information could also put them in danger?"

Alva thought about it. "How is it going to make their life better if the information could put them in danger?"

Slade was eyeing us like what we were discussing sounded odd to him. And it did. But it was a hard subject to talk about without coming out and saying what was really going on with Tress. It would seem extra crazy, crazier than it already sounded. "That's a hard question to answer. What if... just talking about a person's situation could put them in danger, because the wrong people might hear, but you might be able to make their situation better if you told them what you know?"

"Oh. Hmmmm..." Again, Alva gave my problem some thought. "Who are these wrong people?"

"Just some people who might be listening in."

"How do you know they're listening in?"

"Well..." Because an angel told me. Yeah, that'd go over well. "A friend of mine who's very knowledgeable about these matters told me about them."

"Are you a spy?" he asked.

I had to laugh. "No, just a busboy."

"You have some very interesting friends for a busboy." I almost responded, but I could see his mind working again, and I didn't want to disturb the process. "So, your friend told you not to talk about what was happening to someone else because the wrong people might hear."

"Right."

"But you have information that might help that person, if only you could tell them."

"Exactly," I said.

Alva considered that, and then said, "I'd say your knowledgeable friend doesn't want this other person to know the things you know."

That hit me like a ton of bricks. Could it be that Castiel didn't want Tress to know she didn't really have cancer? But that made zero sense. "Why do you say that?"

"Because he's got you ducking phantom wrong people that you're not even sure are really there."

"I don't doubt that they're there..."

"Don't you?" Alva said.

I had to think about it. No, I believed that the demons were really around us. Tress wouldn't have sent Paul away if she didn't feel something evil surrounding her, something real. "No, I believe the wrong people are actually there."

"Then what do you doubt?"

I had an instant answer to that question. "I am doubting that it wouldn't be in this person's best interest to tell them the things I know."

"What does your knowledgeable friend say to that?" Alva asked.

"He just keeps repeating that it would be too dangerous to tell this person the truth."

Alva was very observant. He replied, "Your knowledgeable friend wants that information to stay hidden for nefarious reasons."

Nefarious. That was a big word for a child. A menacing word. "No... no, my friend isn't a bad person."

"Maybe not, but he's using manipulative tactics to keep you quiet."

 _Manipulative tactics_... it was surreal to hear such words come out of the mouth of a kid. "You think so?"

"Yes. How does he react when you question him?"

It struck me how serious Alva looked when he asked that, like he was chasing one of his paranormal cases. Even as a child, I would have trusted him with the fate of the world. "He doesn't seem to want me to talk about it very much."

"Hm." The kid was obviously suspicious of Castiel's motives. "Someone doesn't want you to ask too many questions."

Wow, where did that come from? But it wasn't like the angels hadn't lied to and manipulated Dean and I in the past. After all we had been through with Cas, I didn't want to believe that he would lie to me, especially where an innocent person like Tress was involved. "Maybe," I finally said.

"Stay alert," Alva cautioned. "I don't think those spies even exist."

I wanted to correct him that again, we weren’t talking about spies but I thought in a way, the demons were like spies, because they were watching Tress. "I'll be on the lookout."

Slade suddenly spoke up. "Sam, what are you talking about anyway?"

It never occurred to me that Slade could be possessed, that he could be one of them, and I was lucky that he wasn't. He was just one of those people I instantly trusted, because he was so genuine. I still couldn't tell him the truth, though. "It's a game, Slade. Like one of those mystery weekends hosted by The Millstone," I laughed. "Couldn't you tell?"

"Oh!" He laughed too. "Sure sounded like a bunch of mystery book hooey. But I guess it keeps the kids entertained."

"Are you sure it was just a game?" Alva questioned. He wasn't fooled.

Good time to change the subject. "I told you it was like a riddle. How's your mom feeling?"

He looked over at her. "Mummy has a headache."

"Can I get her anything?"

What Alva said was too adult for even him. "A martini would help."

Slade and I both chuckled; we couldn't help it. "I think we can get her one of those on the house," Slade said, and made her up one. The harder drinks, I had to retrieve from the bar, but martinis were something for which he had the ingredients in his little tiki hut.

Once it was shaken and stirred, I brought the martini to Mrs. Keel and placed it on the metal table next to her chair. "Here you are, ma'am. On the house," I said, and went back to the counter of Slade's to get my things.

She had hardly looked at me when I brought her the drink, except that her eyebrows went up behind the sunglasses. When I turned around, she was up and bringing the martini back to me.

"Take back your drink, sir," Mrs. Keel said. She placed the martini on the counter. "I'm a married woman."

How embarrassing. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, please don't get the wrong idea - "

She simply cut me off with, "You cad," and took Alva's hand. "Let's go back up to the room, pet. Play some games with Mummy."

"Okay." Alva actually shrugged at me before hopping down off the stool with his book in hand. They walked off together, hand in hand.

Once they were out of earshot, Slade broke down laughing. "Sorry, kid. I didn't think she would refuse a good martini."

I threw my bar rag at him.

*****

That billboard I'd seen when Castiel and I first came here kept troubling me. Turned out it was right across the street from Tress's building, and if you went up to the top of the hotel, you could see it from there. That night, I went up to the roof observation deck and looked out over that billboard, studying it. A few others were up there, looking at the stars through roof-mounted telescopes.

"Mummy, I can see Jupiter!" a boy said.

I looked and saw that it was Mrs. Keel and her son standing at one of the telescopes. She stared at me for a moment, and as she wasn't wearing the sunglasses anymore, I could see how sad her eyes were. Sometime in the next ten or so years, that woman would die. It weighed on me, knowing such things and not being able to tell anyone.

I put my attention back on the billboard. _Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House_. Something about that bothered me. Why did it bother me?

When I got back to the room, Castiel was there, staring out the window. I could see his face reflected in the glass; he didn't look happy. Something was bothering him too.

"Hey, you want to talk about it?" I asked.

Cas turned to face me. "Talk about what?"

He wasn't telling me everything. That, I knew. "Nothing."

It's remarkable, how the words of a child could put so much doubt in me.

*****

Getting the rosary turned out to be a lot easier than I assumed it would be.

Tress and I attended the 11AM service at her church, St. Jerome's Catholic Church of Boston, that Sunday. The sermon was delivered by Father Beresford, and was all about still having modesty in this modern age. Father Calero delivered the sermon sometimes, Tress explained, but he was just an underling. Most Sundays, it was Father Beresford.

Once the sermon was over, Tress introduced me to everyone. The members of the choir were quite amused with my height; that's something I had to get used to a long time ago. Tress called me her "very good friend." I wouldn't have minded working up from there at all.

Father Calero looked to be in his thirties, with a polite smile and warm eyes. "I'm happy to see Theresa has a good friend to lean on. We've been worried about her, as ill as she's been and alone so much of the time."

"Oh, Father... I can take care of myself," Tress replied, embarrassed.

He took her hand in both of his. "You shouldn't have to, dear. Especially when you're ill."

She kissed his cheek fondly.

I felt I could trust this man. After all, he was the one who arranged for Paul's protection from the demons. When Tress became involved in a conversation with another parishioner, I followed Calero to his office and asked him if we could have a private conversation.

"Like you, I'm very worried about her," I told him. "She's supposed to go for another test in a couple of weeks to see if her tumor has responded to the treatment, and I know we all want that to happen for her."

"Of course. Is there something I can do?"

I had already spotted the rosary hanging on the wall, inside a glass case with a black velvet backing. Indicating it, I asked, "What's the story behind that rosary?"

He seemed surprised. "Oh, it was owned by a nun who helped found this church. Sister Carol. She lived to be 92 and had it up until her death from natural causes."

I had to approach this gently and with caution. "One of the other church members told me there's a story behind it, something about miracles?"

"Oh, yes." Father Calero's eyes lit up. He enjoyed telling this story. "Sister Carol had a reputation for bringing about miracles with her simple little rosary. She would take it to the hospital and pray over sick parishioners, saying various prayers over the beads, and those people would always have a miraculous recovery. In the last thirty years of her life, she prayed over nearly one hundred people, who all made amazing strides in overcoming their illnesses within only a few months. Some were saved from the very jaws of death, or so the story goes.

"I know it sounds like coincidence, but only to people who weren't there. Father Beresford and I knew her the last five years of her life, and we saw some miraculous things in only that short span of time. I once saw a crippled child walk several steps only minutes after she finished the rosary for him. That child had a spinal deformity, and they found a miracle cure for his back within two months of the incident. I've never seen anything like it before."

"So you believe the rosary has power?"

Father Calero sat behind his desk. "If that's the way you want to put it. I think it was Sister Carol's belief, and the old fashioned power of prayer. The rosary is a way to focus your belief as you speak straight to God. It was His will that the prayers should be answered."

"It's a powerful symbol of faith," I added.

"Yes."

"Do you think it could perform a miracle for Tress?"

Blinking at me, he said, "Tress?"

"Theresa. I've started calling her Tress."

"Oh." For some reason, Father Calero seemed a little shaken by that. He paused so long that I started to get uncomfortable. When he spoke again, he said, "We've actually wondered that ourselves, to be honest with you. Since Sister Carol's death, the rosary has been displayed in that case, but it seems wrong for it not to be out there, performing more miracles. If there was someone to pray over it, perhaps the rosary would help cure Theresa's cancer."

"This is a crucial time for her, about to take an important medical test." Pointing to the rosary, I asked, "Could we borrow it?"

Father Calero gave it some thought. "If you'll be extremely careful with it. We all certainly would love to see Theresa become well." He took a key out of his desk and unlocked the case. "Do you know how to say the rosary?"

"That and several other appropriate prayers." My dad had taught them to me. Prayer, another tool in the fight against evil. "I thank you so much for this, Father."

When he put it in my hand, Father Calero folded my fingers around the rosary, holding on protectively. "Please take good care of it. That rosary means a great deal to all of us here at St. Jerome's."

"I promise, I'll look after it with great care." I held up my hand, squeezing the rosary within it. "We're going to cure her."

His eyes softened; it was something he saw in my face. "You have deep feelings for her, don't you?"

Looking down, I must've seemed embarrassed, like I'd been caught at something. "I haven't known Tress long, it's the truth, but... yeah, I care a great deal for her. She's a very strong woman, and I want nothing more for her to be cured."

"We want the same thing." With a sigh, Father Calero leaned on his desk. "Too many good people are taken by this insidious disease. Let's not have Theresa be one of them."

I thanked him again, and as I was leaving the office, he said, "Let me know if you need any counsel on this. I'm a priest; I may know a few extra prayers."

That made me laugh a little. "I will."

"Oh, and Sam?"

"Yes?"

He shifted from one foot to the other, his eyes narrowed. "What'd you say your last name was?"

"Winchester."

"Ah." Father Calero nodded once, and cleared his throat. "Like the gun."

"Yeah."

He nodded again. "Hm."

I left then, wondering why he'd reacted so strangely to a couple of the things that I'd said.

Young Alva was making me suspicious of everyone.

That afternoon, Tress and I decided to have a picnic in the little park next to The Millstone. Her idea. She said she felt better than she had in weeks, and wanted to eat a ham sandwich under one of the biggest oak trees, where we'd have tons of shade. "Ham's the best meat, next to tuna," she declared.

As we ate our sandwiches and chips under that tree, I presented the rosary to her, and explained where it had come from.

Tears came to her eyes. "It's so touching, that Father Calero would let us borrow it. This rosary is so important to the church." Tress held it in her hand, lovingly rolling the beads between her fingers.

"He let us borrow it because _you_ are important to the church," I replied, and gave her a kiss on the mouth.

Tress looked down at her lap, humbled. "This could all be over in just a few weeks. I might be cured." I heard her voice crack, and saw two tears roll down her cheeks.

I put my hand over the one in which she held the rosary. "In a few weeks, you _will_ be cured." Taking the rosary from her, I said, "Here, let me put it on you."

"Put it on me? No, Sam, a rosary isn't jewelry."

"But you're right on the edge of remission. You need to wear it so it will always be on your person in these last few crucial weeks. Besides..." I held it up, ready to slide it over her head. "...you can put it under your shirt so no one knows you're wearing it but you, me, and God."

With a laugh, Tress allowed me to put the rosary around her neck. She touched the little crucifix hanging from its end, then crossed herself in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. "Please forgive me if You consider this blasphemous," she added.

I took a napkin and blotted the tears from her face. "Do you want to pray over it now?"

Tress nodded, and we prayed for her recovery under what would become our tree.


	5. Let Go

**Chapter 5: Let Go**  
Words: 4,792

 

Less than two weeks away, Tress would undergo another test to find out if the treatments had been successful, and her tumor had gone away. We spent the time working, playing, praying, and petting. I had nothing to complain about. As ticklish as Tress was, I had loads of fun teasing her, especially when we passed each other in the lobby of the hotel. She'd see me coming and would start grinning, and try to get past me on the opposite side of the room. But I'd always catch her, a little squeal already building in her throat. People often turned and stared at the brunette shrieking laughter as a gigantic mop head tickled her without mercy, and I'm sure some of them wondered if they should come save her, but that's the way I liked it.

Every night, I made sure she prayed on that rosary. Tress seemed almost embarrassed to ask God for anything for herself, but once we got going, she prayed the truth - like a woman who desperately wanted to live. And on the nights that we did our vigil in her apartment, we always wound up petting on her couch, like two people who desperately wanted to make love. But Tress would always stop me at some point, even when we'd gone so far that I thought this was the night. I didn't mind so much; the girl drove me crazy. I'd wait for as long as it took.

The Wednesday before her big test came, and we were both off work by five o'clock. Still, I couldn't find her anywhere in the hotel. Bo said he'd seen Tress heading for the pool area, so that's where I went looking for her.

I was stopped momentarily by the sight of little Alva, sitting on one of the lounges, having a conversation with two other boys. What made the conversation so unusual was that one of the boys only spoke French and the other spoke only German. Alva translated between the two so they could all understand each other.

"Est-ce qu'il veut jouer water-polo avec nous?" the first boy asked.

Alva repeated the question to the second boy, only in German. "Wir wollen Wasserball spielen. Willst du mitmachen?"

"Klar!" the kid replied.

"Il a dit soit," Alva said to the first boy.

The three jumped up with beach ball in hand and skipped off toward the pool. The whole thing reminded me of a scene from "I Love Lucy," except in real life, it's far more surreal.

Mrs. Keel was in pretty much the same condition as she always was - in a lounge chair with a tall drink, looking like she was on the verge of a headache with her arm draped dramatically over her forehead. "Stay out of the deep end, Mango," she called to her son.

Although I knew she didn't much care for me, I still approached her to ask, "How many languages does he know, anyway?" in an amazed tone.

Mrs. Keel looked at me over her sunglasses like she was deciding if she would actually lower herself to speak to me. "I've lost count," she said dryly, and returned to her perpetual state of vague suffering. It was a good time to excuse myself.

Slade told me where Theresa was, and he knew because she was very near by - in the park next to The Millstone, up in our tree.

"What's she doing up there?" I asked, more than a little surprised.

Slade shrugged. "The girl likes to climb trees."

I had to laugh. Had she even changed out of her work uniform before getting up there?

Turns out she had. I found her nestled in the crook of two large branches, dressed in casual clothes, peeling and eating an orange.

And she was crying.

The branches creaked under my weight as I climbed up to where she was, so much that Tress stopped what she was doing and grabbed defensively at the branch next to her. "Sam, you're going to dump us both out of this tree," she declared.

Although I wasn't entirely sure she wasn't right, I smiled confidently and said, "Oh, these old oaks are strong. Even strong enough for Sasquatches and their ladies."

That got her laughing, which was better than crying any day. I squeezed myself into the crook of those branches and put Tress on my lap, lying back in my arms, and we cuddled while she finished her orange. "Now, what are you crying about?"

"I'm scared."

"Of your test results?"

"No, of the test." She peeled off a segment of orange and offered it to me, popping it in my mouth. "Not that the possibility of those test results coming back with bad news isn't scary too..."

"Why are you afraid of the test?" In my mind, Tress was just going in for a CAT scan or an MRI; those weren't so bad. I had forgotten it was the 1970's.

"Because it's a PEG," she replied, and added, "I had one before, when I was diagnosed."

"What's that stand for?"

"Pneumoencephalogram."

"A pneumo... cepha... what?"

We said it again, together, much more slowly. Long, tricky word. Almost a tongue twister. But it actually jogged my memory. "Oh, like the test Regan had done in _The Exorcist_."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," Tress said.

I tried to jog her memory too. "The scene where they stick a needle in Regan's neck and all this blood comes gushing out. There's a common misconception that they're giving her a spinal tap, but it's actually a PEG."

Tress craned her head around to look up at me. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

I suddenly remembered she was Catholic. Maybe the film was too offensive for her to have seen it. But surely she'd _heard_ about it. " _The Exorcist_. It was a really controversial film that came out a few years ago. You didn't see it?"

"Never heard of it."

That floored me. The idea that the movie could be about Catholic priests exorcising a demon from a little girl, and the priests at her church hadn't even mentioned it in any of their sermons? That seemed hard to believe. "Tress, it's one of the most controversial horror films of all time. How could you not have heard of it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just haven't."

I tried one more time. "Young girl played by Linda Blair, possessed by a demon, spits pea soup on a priest, turns her head completely around like a lighthouse beacon, gets exorcised by two Catholic priests, none of this is ringing a bell?"

At first she shook her head, but then she added, "Oh, like the William Peter Blatty book? I didn't know they made a movie of that."

I just sat back in disbelief. "I thought everyone had seen _The Exorcist_."

Shrugging again, she offered, "Maybe I forgot it. The brain tumor did affect my memory a little."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Tress then made a devilish little joke that just further stole my heart. "By the way, you're cute. What's your name?"

I rolled my eyes and gave her a tickle.

"So, you say Regan had a PEG in the movie?"

"Yeah, and they made it seem really awful." Now I realized why she was so scared. "Do they really hurt that bad?"

Tress nodded solemnly. "The doctor explained that they would be removing some of my cerebrospinal fluid and replacing it with something that would show up better on X-rays. I think it was oxygen. Not only did it give me the worst headache of my life, but it also made me projectile vomit for two days and screwed up my balance for even longer. And now I've got to go through that all over again. Sometimes I think I'd prefer the brain tumor," she huffed.

With a snicker, I said, "You don't mean that."

"No, I don't. What I do mean is that I hope the tumor is gone for good so this will be the last PEG I ever suffer through."

I kissed her on the head and snuggled her close. "It will be."

Of course I had no idea if that was true, but sitting there in the crook of that tree with Tress in my arms, I wanted it to be.

"Sam," she began, "will you stay overnight with me for a few days? The night before and after the test especially? It's going to be rough, and it would be nice to have someone there to take care of me."

"Oh sure, no problem. I'd be happy to," I replied.

"Great. Thank you." Tress looked at me gratefully, peering over her shoulder. "We can break out the Scrabble board."

"Woo," I teased. "Hot times."

Later that night, Castiel was in my room again, looking out the window as if he was reflecting on something that troubled him. I had seen him deep in thought like this so many times lately that it was starting to make me edgy. Were things not going as planned? Was there a problem?

Did he know something I didn't?

"You seem troubled," I remarked, putting my busboy apron on the bed.

Castiel half-turned, gave me a glance, and returned to peering out the window. "Just anxious to see this thing through."

"Oh." After taking a seat on the end of the bed, I told Cas about the test Tress was going to take on Friday and how I'd be looking after her in the days before and after. "It's practically barbaric, how they diagnose and monitor brain tumors in this time period. Hard to believe it was only thirty years ago," I sighed. "Poor Tress."

At this point, Castiel had turned from the window to listen to my plans for the next few days. I saw a sad look pass across his features before he hid it behind a more neutral expression. "You're really fond of her, aren't you?"

With no reason to lie, I just told him the truth. "Cas, I'm in love with her."

He lowered his head, almost as if he expected this might happen when he sent me on this mission, and thought it might not be a positive turn of events. "This complicates things," Castiel said. "Does she feel the same way about you?"

"I think so," I replied.

"Hm." Cas fell silent.

"Castiel, I can see the problems inherent in the feelings I have for Theresa. We're from different times. But we can't help it that we fell in love with each other." Apprehensive, I just came out and asked him. "Cas, what happens when all of this is over? When Tress and her son are safe, am I expected to just go back to my own time and forget her?"

It was a difficult question, one he had to take time to think over. "We hadn't really planned for this, Sam." After a deep sigh, he asked, "What do you want to happen?"

"I'd like to stay with her," I began, and before I could say anymore, he brought up the only major issue there was with my plan.

"What about Dean?" Castiel said.

It wasn't like I hadn't thought about it. "If I asked him to, Dean would come back in time with me. He'd probably love to live in the 70's anyway, with all the classic rock he listens to. Or maybe... maybe it would be safer for Tress and Paul to live in the future with us. It could get all these demons off her tail." I shrugged. "They won't be looking for her there."

Surprising me, Castiel became one sarcastic little SOB in reaction. "Isn't that the Winchester way, messing with time and reality, just so long as they get what they want."

I fumed angrily; he must've seen it in my face, because he crossed his arms, ready for a stern argument. "Why shouldn't we? The other angels expect us to just act our parts like we're puppets instead of people. But we're not puppets. Don't we have a right to be happy? Besides, you're the one who brought me here in the first place!" Attempting to keep this from turning into a big pointless fight, I tried to calm down a little. "Look, I never said this wasn't going to be a complicated relationship. But it's worth fighting for. There will just have to be a... a compromise."

"A compromise?" Cas said it as if this was a ludicrous way to refer to what I was asking. "You don't think it's at all unfair to ask your brother to live out the rest of his life in a time period that begins before he was even born?"

I could see why Castiel would have such concerns, but I knew Dean better than he did. "Cas, come on. You know that nothing means more to Dean than family. His happiness has very little to do with which time period he's living in."

Cas gave a small nod. "I suppose you're right." Lowering his head again, he added, "I'm just worried that you're sacrificing too much for Theresa. We thought you might grow close to her, but this..."

I couldn't help but smile. "Sometimes, these unexpected things just happen."

"Yes," Castiel agreed, looking up with a touch of irony in his eyes. "Yes, I suppose they do."

*****

Thursday night, I stayed over at Tress's just like I said I would. She paid me back by stuffing me with some of the best home cooked tuna casserole I've ever had. "You even bake breadcrumbs on top," I remarked, shoveling a second helping onto my plate. Tress had no idea how many home cooked meals I _hadn't_ received in my life. "Yumyum yum."

Tress laughed, her hands folded on the table while she watched me eat. "You act like you've never had tuna casserole in your life."

"I haven't, not like this." I started to explain that it was because of growing up without a mother, but that seemed too depressing a thing to say. Instead, I added, "My dad couldn't cook."

"Ah, I see. Well, eat all you like. That's what I made it for."

I noticed she barely had a few bites before pushing her plate away. "Why aren't you pigging out with me?"

Tress sighed. "I don't want to eat a lot the night before my test." With a roll of her eyes, she explained, "Less to toss later," and made a descriptive throwing-up noise.

"Oh." Shoveling some more casserole and green beans into my mouth, I shook my head. "You're going to be awfully hungry later."

"I can take it."

It wasn't as fun, eating alone. "Oh come on, it won't bother me if you throw up after your test." I pointed to the kitchen. "You got a mop in there, lotsa towels in the cabinet... I'm a good cleaner-upper."

Snickering, she swatted me with her linen napkin. "Sam! Ew."

"I'm just sayin'." I kept eating. "How do you cook these green beans? They got all this extra flavor."

"Uh, you cook them with a ham bone, onion, and some other stuff."

"Ham bone, that's it. I knew I tasted something meaty in there."

As she watched me cram more food in my mouth, suddenly her stomach made a loud _Oioioi_ noise. I saw Tress lick her lips. "A few green beans couldn't upset my stomach that much," she said, and gave in, serving herself about three spoonfuls of them.

She wound up having a couple extra spoonfuls of tuna casserole too. And that was from a serving spoon, so they were nice helpings. I grinned to myself.

As she suggested the day before, we played Scrabble after dinner. I noticed that Tress kept spelling out foods. DONUT. BREAD. And my favorite, MILK DUD. "I'm not sure I should let you get away with that one," I said with a laugh. "I doubt that's a Scrabble-regulation word."

"Oh, like you didn't just spell out SANTA," she giggled back.

"What's wrong with Santa?"

"Proper names aren't allowed."

"But MILK DUD is?"

We had a good laugh and just continued the game, overlooking each of our little cheat words.

When she added on to my TWIN to spell TWINKIE, I remarked, "Why don't you get some more to eat? It's obvious you're still hungry."

"I'd rather spell them out than eat them."

"Suit yourself." Since she was advertising what was on her mind, I decided to do the same. I first spelled out KISS. Then TOUCH. And after she answered my SANTA with CLAUS, I added CARESS to the board.

Tress looked at me coyly. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

I added a few more letters, building on my own word. TOUCHYOU. "What's my score for that one?" I asked.

She leaned across the board and planted a kiss on my mouth. "I get the feeling that you're in the mood to fool around."

"What ever gave you that idea?"

Grinning, Tress leaned back. "Oh, and you get no points for that word. Totally illegal."

I pretended to be offended. "And I let you have DONUT."

"There's nothing wrong with DONUT."

"I don't think it's spelled that way."

The grin faded from her mouth. "You don't?"

"No."

"Well..." Tress got to her feet. "I'll just check it in the dictionary."

She was completely serious. I came up behind her and put my arms around her waist, batting the dictionary out of her hands. "Uh, Sam!" she snapped.

"I had no idea you were such a competitive board game player."

"Competitive? I just want things to be fair," Tress replied. The irritation in her voice was so cute. 

"Okay, MILK DUD," I retorted.

At this point, she finally laughed, and cuddled back into me. I turned her around and we started to kiss. Within a minute, we were melting into each other with some of the deepest kisses we'd shared yet. Things were getting pretty hot when she pushed away and said, "Sam, I don't mean to put a halt on things just when it's getting good, but... I'm worried. I think I should show you something before we go any further."

I shrugged. "Okay."

Tress took me by the hand and led me into the bedroom. We'd never petted in here before. My heart was racing at the thought that maybe... but instead, she took out a bottle of lotion. "My, um, my skin gets kind of dry this time of year anyway, but with the radiation and stuff..." She ran a hand over her wig. "Sam, I've lost almost all my hair under here. I think it's time you saw it, because you're going to see it tomorrow."

This wasn't something I had expected. "Sure, okay."

"No, I don't think you understand. I'm not kidding. My head is almost completely bald, and it's all red and scarred, and..." Tress choked back tears.

"Hey..." I took her in my arms. She leaned on my shoulder and began to cry. "It doesn't matter."

"I don't want you to be turned off by how I look without the wig," she sobbed.

"That's impossible."

"Oh really?" Tress dared me by taking the wig off. It was the first time I had seen her head without it. And it looked exactly as she had described - patches of buzz cut, thin hair in one or two places, but the rest, bald and red.

I kissed her forehead. "You still turn me on," I said, and gave her the dirtiest, neediest kiss I could for good measure.

She nearly fanned herself. "Wow, I guess I do." We both giggled and snickered.

I pointed to the lotion. "Do you want me to help you put that on?"

"No, I better do it so I can be careful." Tress indicated her head. "Some of these spots get so dry and itchy."

I watched her put the lotion on, a little impatient for her to finish so I could help her rub some more into other places. It didn't even matter if those places were dry and itchy or not, I just wanted to make her feel good. The fact that it was the night before her test and all she was concerned about was me seeing her without her wig... I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck.

Tress sniffled. "You still want to?"

"I always want to," I said, breathing on the back of her neck.

For a second, I thought she was going to start crying again, but she got control of her emotions. Her relief reverberated from her psyche to mine through the empathic link she occasionally opened up between us. "Okay, but I want to put the wig back on. I just feel... sexier with it on."

"If you need to. Don't do it on my account, if you're more comfortable with it off."

Tress didn't say anything, just put the wig back on her head and turned to me with a smile. "Okay," she said, as if signaling the start of a race, and dove at me, kissing me on the lips.

Somehow, we wound up sitting on the bed. I'm not even sure when that happened, just sometime when we were kissing and happily groping each other. Panting, I asked, "Are there any other places where your skin gets dry?"

Clearly she couldn't see the motivation for that question, because she looked at me like I was nuts. "Sam, what?"

"Is your skin dry anywhere else?" I questioned again. "Hand me the lotion."

It seemed like Tress was starting to get it. She grabbed the lotion off her dresser and handed it to me. I put some into my hand and said, "These legs look like they could use a little special attention," and took hold of her left ankle, lifting her leg onto the bed and rubbing the lotion up and down her calf. With that denim skirt on, Tress had left me easy access to her lovely, bare legs.

"Mmm," she purred. She closed her eyes, enjoying my little massage.

"And these knees... they look a little dry." I rubbed lotion into her left knee.

She shivered. Her knee trembled under my hand.

Almost straightening her leg, I caressed the lotion into the back of Tress's knee before moving up the back of her thigh. The muscles there tensed up in surprise, and she gasped. "Your thighs are soft and lovely, but a little moisturizing can never hurt." While massaging the lotion into her skin, I got her to lie back on the bed, making it easier for me to spread her legs apart and rub more lotion into the insides of her thighs.

At first, Tress lost herself in what I was doing, trembling and moaning lightly, her skirt pushed all the way up to her waist. I leaned over and dared to kiss the inside of her thighs, working my way upward.

It was when I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and tried to pull them down that she gasped and started to sit up. "No, no, Sam, that's too far. I can't, I just can't."

"But I want to make you feel good," I protested. "I have no expectations."

"I'm just not ready to go that far..."

I helped her sit up. "It's okay, it's okay, shhhh. There are other things we can do." Gently, I coaxed her to sit on my lap, her back to my chest. "You have many dry, itchy places."

Tress giggled at my little joke, shivering with arousal.

Pumping more lotion onto my fingers, I reached down her shirt and massaged it into her upper chest, just above her cleavage. "Is it itchy here?" I began to unbutton her shirt.

Tress just nodded, playing along, a hand snaking up the back of my neck and into my hair.

I kept up a mantra in my head, one I hoped I could make her feel should she choose to dip into my emotions. _Don't stop me, don't stop me, don't stop me,_ I repeated to myself as I got her shirt open and unsnapped her bra. She did not stop me, just laid her head back on my shoulder as I rubbed the lotion into her breasts, paying extra attention to her nipples. They became like pebbles under the tips of my fingers.

Tress moaned, her mouth now near my ear. "Sam," she breathed.

I kissed her exposed neck.

Soon, she had spread her legs again, opening them across my lap until her knees were on the outside of mine. Even if Tress rebuffed me again, I knew she wanted to go further from that body language, and I was going to take her there. Somehow, I would make it okay.

Most of the lotion had been rubbed into her skin, but my hand was still smeared with a little of it. "Are you dry down here?" I joked, and unbuttoned her skirt. Tress gasped, but didn't stop me, so I slid my fingers into her panties. Without even going all the way in, I could already feel the warm, moist heat. "No, most certainly not dry."

Dirty talk like that wasn't something I did very often, not unless we were in a situation like this, where teasing had become a version of foreplay. Tress actually blushed at those words. "Sam," she retorted scoldingly.

But she didn't exactly stop me. Instead, Tress whispered to me, "I'm not ready to go all the way with you, Sam, I mean, I want to, but not tonight, I'm just not - "

I cut her off, repeating, "It's okay, I have no expectations. We don't have to go all the way. I just want to make you feel good. Please let me make you feel good." As I said that, I slipped my fingers deep inside and stroked what I knew would illicit the response I wanted. "Please don't stop me."

Tress shuddered all over at that first touch of my fingers, letting out a moan. I kept stroking until she was panting and moving her hips in time with my fingers, her head thrown back on my shoulder. "Sam!" she cried. I kissed her neck again.

We had gone this far once before, but Tress had stopped me when she got too worked up. We had never orgasmed in each other's presence before. I intended to change that. She was going to have an orgasm, and it would be beautiful.

Tress seemed to sense it coming. She grasped my wrist. "Sam, maybe you should stop," she panted.

In response, I stroked her harder and faster. "I want to make you feel good," I told her again, and whispered in her ear, "Just let go, baby."

"Sam, I..."

I said it again. "Just let go. Let me see you, Tress."

She knew what I wanted to see. And finally, she did let go, and moved her hips even more in time with my fingers. Tress came shortly after, a panting, trembling, moaning mess, the most beautiful thing she could have shown me that night.

"Sam! Oh, Sam!" she moaned, her chest heaving with every cry.

At that moment, Tress lost any control she had over her empathy, and her orgasm was projected right into my head. It felt so raw and delicious that I went over the edge too, right into my pants. We shook and panted against each other.

Tress had heard the noise I'd made. "You, um, did you...?"

"Yeah," I replied with a bashful little laugh. "You just did it for me."

"But... I didn't touch you..."

I tapped my temple. "Yeah you did."

Now it was her turn to be bashful. "I, uh... I don't know how to explain that..." Tress began, looking away.

"That's alright, you don't have to." I turned her face back towards me and gave her a kiss. "I understand."

She didn't seem to be in the mood for long explanations of her empathy anyway, and just let it go for the night. "We should, um... clean up and get in our pajamas, don't you think?"

I nodded, then kissed her one last time before we separated to get ready for bed.

That night, I slept in her bed with her. It was the first time we'd done that. We slept facing each other, sometimes cuddling, sometimes sharing a little kiss, until we both nodded off.

It was one of the best nights of my life.


	6. And As We Wind on Down the Road

**Chapter 6: And as We Wind on Down the Road**  
Words: 3,979

 

Tress was right. The PEG was truly awful, to watch and to know that she was going through it. I could tell just by watching her face through the observation window and seeing her cry that she was in terrible pain. Sometimes, the ache in her head would echo to me through her empathy, and if just a touch of it felt that bad, imagine how Tress must've felt.

For the first time, I thought maybe we should take her into the future, Castiel and me. Where there were better diagnostic techniques. But after the way he'd reacted when I suggested taking Tress and Paul to 2010, I decided against it. She was already enduring the PEG anyway; it was too late.

The doctor wanted her to come in the following Wednesday morning for the test results. It shouldn't take that long to look at a bunch of X-rays and make his decision, but he knew she'd be in no shape to hear these results right after the test. No, he wanted her to go straight home to bed, after we got the pain killers he'd prescribed for her.

I had to help Tress out of the standard hospital wheelchair and into the cab. It was obvious she wasn't going to make it to the pharmacy; I needed to take her home first. When the cab drove up in front of her building, Tress opened the door and promptly threw up all over the sidewalk. Some people walking by recoiled and nearly screamed over it.

"She's really sick," I said to them, and helped her out of the cab.

I wound up nearly having to carry her up to the apartment. Tress's legs were wobbly and her balance unpredictable. "It's just a little further," I told her as we approached her door.

"Sam, it really hurts," she wailed.

"I know it does. Okay, let me unlock the door."

Only a few feet into the apartment and she threw up again, on the living room rug. And when she said 'projectile vomit,' she meant it. "Sorry," she said pitifully.

"It's okay baby, you can't help it."

I laid her on the bed, took off her shoes, and put the covers over her. "When I get back, we'll get you in your jammies, okay? I'll be back soon with your pain pills. Do you need anything right now?"

With her hands over her face, Tress groaned, "A bucket. Put it by the bed, please."

I decided that getting her pills was more important than an immediate cleanup of the living room rug, so I left it until I returned from the drug store. When I got back, Tress dozed in a fitful sleep. She'd left a little present for me in the bucket as well.

I leaned down and stroked her hair back from her forehead. She had pulled herself over to the side of the bed to vomit and just stayed there, head half on and half off the pillow. "Tress? I've got your pills."

She groaned, coming awake. "Oh. Thanks."

"I'll just get you some water."

I helped her take the pills, then suggested we get her into her pajamas. "No, no. Moving hurts," Tress complained.

"But you can't sleep in your bra and your jeans," I said. "That can't be comfortable."

"It hurts too much to move," she whined.

"Okay, okay. Would it hurt if I took off your jeans?"

"You can try it."

I got her jeans undone and then grabbed them by the cuffs, dragging them off her body. Tress groaned once and then curled into a fetal position, burying her face in the pillow. "Thanks, much better."

"What about your bra?" I asked.

She rolled over a little, offering her back to me. I pulled up the back of her shirt and unsnapped the bra. The one she'd had on last night was a front closure one; the sudden memory made me grin.

"Good enough, thank you," Tress said into the pillow.

I couldn't help but be amused by her almost complete avoidance of moving, although I could understand it. "You're welcome," I said, and put the covers over her again.

With a kiss to the forehead, I left her to sleep.

Cleaning up wasn't so bad. I'd kinda gotten used to getting stains out of things over my years of hunting. Usually, it was blood, though. The bucket was easier. Dump, rinse, put back for further use.

Okay, I'll stop.

Tress slept for the rest of the day and into the night, waking up only to take more pills. During my solitary time in her apartment, I got a little snoopy - I couldn't help it. Once you fall in love with someone, you just start to feel like their home is your home, and you get curious.

Besides, the desk drawer was slightly ajar.

In that drawer I found a letter Tress had been writing to her mother. What it said about me made my heart soar. Seriously, if my heart could have jumped out of my chest and danced down a hill, singing, "The hills are alive with the sound of music!" it would have.

The letter said...

_Dear Mother,_

_Hello. I'm writing you because I was hoping we could start talking again, and this seemed like a good way to begin making peace. I've spoken with Father Calero and Father Beresford, and they reminded me that although you did things that hurt me in regards to Daddy's death, I only have one mother, and that I had said some very harsh and cruel things to you without hearing your side of the story. I'd like for us to start talking now. First off, I'm sorry that I said all those awful things. You are still my mommy, and I love you, and I don't wish you were dead instead of Daddy. I'm so, so sorry I hurt you._

_I was hoping you could come visit soon. Mother, I've met someone. You'll like him very much. His name is Sam, and he's everything I've ever wanted in a man. I'm very much in love with him. I've decided that if my test results say that I've finally beat this cancer, I'm going to tell him how I feel. I'm pretty sure that he feels the same way about me._

_Please write or call me._

_With love,_

_Terry_

After I finished that letter, I put it back, and got into bed with Tress and cuddled up against her. When I proceeded to start kissing the side of her head and her ear, she groaned at me, "Saaaam, whatareyoudooooing?"

"Nothing, baby," I said, and wrapped an arm around her waist. "Just cuddling. Go back to sleep."

"Umph," was her reply.

I'd take her just like this, in sickness, and in health.

*****

We spent most of the weekend in bed. By Monday, Tress felt well enough to do a few things for herself, but she still couldn't go to work. I, however, had to go to work.

On my way out, I met the owner of the apartment building in which Tress lived. He was outside, watering the landscaping and hosing down the sidewalk, something I'm sure he had to do on Friday as well. (Okay, I mean it this time, I'll stop.) Seems people in the neighborhood had been noticing things and talking, maybe even to Tress. Even though I didn't know his name, the man recognized me instantly. "Hey, aren't you Theresa's guy?"

That made me grin. Widely. "Yeah, that's me. Sam." We shook hands.

"How's she doing? Didn't she have some sort of test on Friday?"

"Yeah. We're supposed to go get the results on Wednesday."

"Well, we're all pulling for her in the office. Theresa's a good tenant. Never had any problems with her." He winked at me. "You treat her good, okay? And send her our love, from Mr. and Mrs. Bascarelli."

I grinned back, happy as a lark. "Not a problem."

Something hit me about halfway to the hotel. All these people that Theresa knew in the neighborhood, and at The Millstone, and even the hospital, and not a single one of them ever asked about Paul. How is Paul doing? When is Paul coming home? Not even _Where is Paul?_ I hadn't thought about it before then, but it was awfully strange, wasn't it?

It was the first thing I asked Castiel when I saw him that night. I was getting some fresh clothes from my hotel room, ready to head back to Tress's, when he appeared behind me. "How is Theresa?" Castiel asked.

I turned to him. "She's better today."

He seemed pleased to hear that, smiling a little.

"Castiel," I began, "I noticed something weird, and I wonder if you know anything about it."

"What's that?"

"Well, Theresa knows all these people in the neighborhood, and at work and such, and they're always asking how she's doing... but no one ever asks about Paul. Not a single person asks how he is, not even _where_ he is. Do you know why? Are all these people in on it or something?"

Frowning slightly, Cas said, "No, they're not 'in on it.' Sam, it's extremely important that no one mention Paul outside of this room. When we talk, our conversations are protected, but when you're not in my presence, there is nothing I can do to keep the demons from hearing you, or anyone else, for that matter. Paul had to be wiped from the memories of everyone who knows Theresa so they wouldn't do exactly what you expected them to do - ask about him. Once he can return home safely, I will put everyone's minds back like I found them."

My head spun at the idea of what Castiel had done. "My God, you messed with the minds of everyone Tress knows? Even her _mother_ has forgotten Paul?"

"Essentially, yes," he replied with a nod. "As I said, I'll fix it all once Paul can come home."

"Wow, this is blowing my mind." I ran both hands through my hair.

"Sam, do you really understand how serious this is?" Castiel asked me. "Because I need to know that you do. If you are truly in love with Theresa Callan, then you need to understand that this child will, at times, be in your care. Paul is a very important vessel. I gather that you'll more see him as just a human child, but you need to realize that the outer shell isn't all there is to him. I need to know that when the time comes, you will be ready to allow Paul to play his part, no matter what."

My first instinct was to tell Cas that he knew where he could stick it, because hadn't we gone through hell to escape the other angels for the sake of free will? And he wanted me to be prepared to take that away from Paul? But then I remembered that this was the exact reason Castiel had taken me back in time in the first place, that the purpose of saving Theresa was to ensure that Paul could and would act as this vessel when the time came. "But, it will still be Paul's choice, won't it? He won't be forced to be a vessel?"

Cas nodded. "It has always been a vessel's choice."

"What about the shit Zachariah's pulled? Trying to manipulate and strong-arm Dean and I into acting as vessels? Those things won't be done to Paul, will they?"

He was already shaking his head before I could finish. "You know that Joshua and I do not employ such tactics. I promise you, it will be Paul's choice."

This satisfied me. "Alright, then."

"Then you understand why I had to change the memories of everyone Theresa knows?"

"Yeah."

"And you understand that if the time comes, you cannot just think of Paul as the human shell, but also as the holy purpose within him?"

For some reason, those words sent a chill up my spine, like they were far more personal than I truly knew. "Yes, I understand."

Castiel nodded once. "Good."

To myself, I hoped that time would not come, because it would mean that we were facing the Apocalypse. It wasn't just about Dean and I and the fate of the world anymore, but about the destiny of Tress's little boy.

Of course, at the time, I had no idea what a skillful liar and manipulator Castiel had become.

*****

Wednesday came. Tress was, of course, extremely nervous. While we waited in the doctor's office, I held her hand to show her I was there, no matter what the outcome.

The doctor came in and, after the pleasantries, put a series of X-rays up on a light board to the left of us. The first few were the before. The others were the after.

"I see no traces of the tumor," he said with a big smile. "Theresa, you're in remission."

Her face lit up with such sunny joy, sometimes it breaks my heart now to think of it. "I'm cured?"

"You're cured," he confirmed, nodding his head.

With a happy squeal, Tress jumped up and actually hugged the doctor. He took it with good humor, patting her back. Then she turned and squeezed me around the neck.

"I'm cured, Sam, I'm cured!" she kept saying in my ear.

I lifted her briefly off the ground, nearly crushing her against me. "I know, baby. It's so wonderful."

The rosary had worked. I had accomplished what I came here to do.

Or so I thought.

At that moment, Tress began to cry, and I did not let her go, but held her for a few minutes until the overwhelmed, happy tears subsided. Then, while she was thanking the doctor about two million times, I took a close look at the X-rays out of curiosity.

We had never really talked about where Tress's tumor was located in her brain; it's just kind of an awkward subject to bring up. Now I could see that it had been in the temporal lobe. I asked the doctor about the location and he used the word "hippocampal," meaning that it was next to the hippocampus. There was just something too... authentic about those X-rays. Looking at them, I somehow knew they hadn't been angel-Photoshopped. Call it a sixth sense.

Somehow, I knew that Castiel had lied to me. That whatever the demons had done with their spell, they had actually given Theresa cancer. It was gone now, but she had really had a brain tumor, and the chemotherapy and radiation had worked with our prayers over the rosary to cure her. My poor Tress.

Why had Cas lied about a thing like that? It was something I'd have to discuss with him later. Right then, Tress and I had some celebrating to do.

I took her out to lunch at a fancy restaurant with an actual wine list. She wasn't much of a drinker, but that day she had three glasses of some very nice dessert wine. By the time we got back to her apartment, Tress was feeling very happy and quite tipsy.

The weather good and the mood even better, we walked back to her place. Everybody she saw that she even slightly knew heard the great news.

"I'm cured," she said to them, giggling and hugging all over me. "My tumor's gone."

They all congratulated her, shook her hand, gave her a hug. Everyone couldn't be more overjoyed to know that sometimes, a person gets a break.

We both giggled our way through the door and Tress went straight to the record player, choosing a Led Zeppelin album. She put on "Stairway to Heaven." I watched the record turn for a moment; it wasn't something I'd seen much of, being born in 1983. I was more used to cassettes being played in the car. She interrupted my train of thought when she rubbed against my arm and said, "Dance with me."

"My pleasure," I replied. I took one of her hands and the other, she placed on my side, and we slow danced in her living room, just grinning at each other. Within seconds, Tress laid her head on my chest and we were swaying back and forth, circling a small space across the little rug between her TV and her couch, and it was one of the most romantic and _erotic_ moments of my life. I hadn't felt like this since some of my best times with Jess.

About halfway through the song, she looked up at me and said, "I want you to kiss me."

"So I'll kiss you," I quietly declared, and did so. Tress wrapped her arms around my neck and we kissed until we practically melted into each other.

We did not let each other go, but we still swayed to the music, which was starting to change tempo. "I want you to do that again," she said. I could hear the urgency creeping into her voice.

Another kiss later and her hands running through my hair, Tress brushed her lips against mine and whispered, "I want you to take me to bed."

My brain shorted out for a moment. I could hear her breath quickening. Did she really mean what I thought she meant? "You want to...?"

Tress nodded at me. It was what I had been waiting for, what we had been building up to for over a month. "Make love to me, Sam," she begged, and kissed me hard.

The music swelled, changing into a faster tempo at the same time we did. Within seconds, it was all searching hands and hungry kisses as she worked at the buttons of my shirt. All the sexual tension we'd built up was exploding right there. I got her shirt off over her head and she grabbed my shoulders and climbed me, wrapping her legs around my waist. I carried her into the bedroom, fumbling with the snap of her bra and slamming us both into the doorframe, sending us into breathless giggles.

The drums in the next room mirrored how frenzied we felt as we struggled to get our jeans off, both at the same time. I became aware of the fact that we were grunting and panting and fumbling all over each other.

It was glorious.

Yanking at her jeans, she got mine open, and at some point, hers came all the way down. We were both still partially dressed, me more than her, and our legs weren't even fully on the bed, but it didn't matter. The straps of Tress's bra were still looped loosely over her arms and it sometimes got in the way when I went to suck at her breasts, giving me a mouthful of fabric, but again, it didn't matter. Her naked chest pressed against mine and I loved it; I wanted it all just like this. Imperfect and perfect at the same time.

Tress wrapped her legs around my waist, ushering me in. I found my way deep inside her. She threw her head back and moaned. When I started to move, to thrust, Tress encouraged me further. "Sam! Yes!" she cried. I was aware of making noises too, but it was her cries that moved me forward, anything I could do to please her.

Tress looked so beautiful with her head thrown back and mouth open, panting and moaning in ecstasy. Neither one of us lasted long. Within minutes, she was shaking and crying out my name, clutching the muscles in my back, and I buried my face in her neck and climaxed inside her.

I know it sounds corny, but I felt like we really became one when we made love. One soul, one body.

At some point, the song had ended, and the record player started the album over as it had been set to do. I looked down at her under me and realized that our movements had slightly dislodged her wig; it was crooked on her head. It made me chuckle.

Tress rubbed the back of her calf slowly over my bottom, just savoring the moment. I hadn't even moved; I was still on top of her. "What?"

"Your hair's a little crooked," I said, kissing her cheek.

Rolling her eyes and laughing, she straightened it a little. "Better?"

"Mm-hm."

"Sam..." Tress looked absolutely joyous at this moment, her face shining with sweat and hope. "...I'm so happy. Do you love me? Because I love you." She swallowed. Her eyes grew big. "I'm in love with you, Sam."

I just smiled back at her. "I'm in love with you too, Tress."

"Oh," she cooed, and hugged my neck, then gave me a long, contented kiss.

We removed the rest of our clothes, moved further up the bed, and spent the rest of the afternoon cuddling and making love. Nothing could be wrong with the world on such a perfect day.

*****

After dinner, I went back to my room at The Millstone to get another change of clothes. Tomorrow, Tress would return to work and tell everyone the good news about her tumor. Still, I couldn't resist telling Bo and Slade. They were both overjoyed, and vowed to act surprised when Tress told them herself.

Castiel was already in my room. I just looked at him and wondered why he was sitting there in one of the chairs that flanked the windows, grinning like the Cheshire cat with his hands in his lap, fingers twiddling. It was like he knew a very wonderful secret.

"You must know, then," I said as I packed a few things into a little bag.

Suddenly, he looked slightly alarmed. "Know what?"

"That Tress is cured," I answered.

Now Cas seemed relieved, his face relaxing. "Oh, oh, yes. Yes, we know all about it."

"Angel grapevine, huh?"

Castiel gave me a nod. "Yes, that's right."

I gave him a little smile before bringing up his deception. "Cas, why did you lie to me?"

He frowned. "What did I lie about, Sam?"

"You told me Theresa didn't really have cancer. But I looked at those X-rays today and I got this feeling from them... of authenticity. Realness. She really was sick, wasn't she?"

After lowering his head for a moment, Castiel replied, "I'm sorry, Sam. Yes, you're right. Theresa really did have cancer. But the doctor and the rosary have cured her, so it's alright now."

"Why did you lie to me?" I asked.

"Because..." Cas thought about it a moment, choosing his words. "...I didn't want you to worry. Curing a demonic spell seems like a task you're more ready to take on than curing a woman of cancer, doesn't it?"

"Then that's what the spell did? The demons gave her a brain tumor?"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

I curled my hand into a fist. "God, those bastards. That's so cruel. If they wanted her dead, that was surely a slow, horrible way to die."

"I believe that they were hoping it would somehow draw Paul's location out of her, sort of a ransom of her own life." Castiel patted my shoulder. "But don't worry about it now; that part is over. The doctor's treatment and your prayers over the rosary have cured her. The spell has failed."

I nodded and sighed in relief. "Cas, when can Paul come home? Is it safe yet?"

Smiling a little, he said, "Soon, Sam. It won't be long now." Cas handed me a shirt from my duffle bag. "Perhaps only a matter of months."

That little shit.


	7. The Apostle of Tarsus

**Chapter 7: The Apostle of Tarsus**  
5,197

 

Months did pass, about two, in fact. Tress and I lived in bliss, going out on dates, attending church, making love, just getting to know each other better. We went bowling and played board games a lot. I couldn't resist breaking the rules of the games on purpose, knowing it would make her angry, and then laughing at her as she fumed at me. It was so cute how competitive she could be over something so silly.

And there was the dancing. Tress loved to go dancing. We'd hit up a rock n' roll club every weekend and she and I would let loose out there with all the other couples. Not me so much; I'm not much of a dancer - I'd just kind of move to the music while she went crazy all over me, tossing her hair around and climbing me like a tree. I loved that part. I loved watching her, so sexy with her hips swaying and her arms around my neck. When Tress let go and lost herself in the music, there was nothing like watching her body move.

Often, I thought of hunting, and of Dean, and I'd ask Castiel questions that always received the same elusive answers.

"Cas, when can Paul come home?"

"Soon, Sam. Soon. It's not safe yet."

And then, "Cas, when can we bring Dean here?"

"Soon, Sam. Soon. The time isn't quite right."

Then came the day that was the worst, and one of the best, of my life. The day when all of Castiel's betrayals came to light.

Tress had been acting squirrely all morning, grinning and giggling whenever she'd look at me like she had a secret. I gave her a kiss and we both went to work, but I didn't see her for the rest of the day.

When I came over that night, the atmosphere had become vastly different.

Tress had given me a key about two months before. I let myself in, and couldn't have been more stunned by what I saw.

Religious statues overcame every inch of the living room. Figurines of the Virgin Mary, Jesus, and angels occupied any bit of free space on each end table, and had been lined up between the door and the rest of the apartment, forming some sort of tiny wall of protection. That was an amazing sight in and of itself, but then there were the crosses to contend with. Crucifixes and crosses of many types and sizes had been hung on every wall of the living room from floor to ceiling as if the place had been transformed into a hunter's ultimate ward against evil. Except Tress was no hunter.

Like all this wasn't perplexing enough, Father Calero sat in the arm chair, facing the front door. His face was stern and ready.

"What's going on?" I asked, indicating the state of the room. "Where's Tress?"

That's when I realized I could hear her breathing, quick with fear. She was sitting behind the arm chair. _Hiding_. My first thought was that something had happened with the demons. Had they tried to hurt her? Had they done something to Paul?

"Sam, would you show me your left shoulder, please?"

I couldn't have been more confused by that request. "You want to see my shoulder?"

Father Calero just nodded.

"Why?"

"Do it!" Tress snapped from behind the chair.

I leaned over a bit, trying to see her. "Tress, what's going on?"

Sighing, Father Calero sat forward and said, "Sam, do you have a birthmark on your left shoulder?"

As can be expected, I had no idea why he wanted to know a thing like that, but I answered his question anyway in hopes it would shed some light on why he and Tress were behaving as they were. "Yes. A little one. It's sort of in the shape of South America."

Tress let out a small whimper. "I told you."

Lowering his head, Father Calero sighed again, and stood up. "That's all the proof I need, then. Theresa, come out from behind the chair. You'll be okay. You must be strong and face your adversary."

 _Adversary?_ "What are you talking about, Father Calero?" The way they were acting, it was making me uncomfortable. "Would you mind telling me what's going on?"

Tress stood and came out from behind the chair. She clutched a crucifix to her chest. The look on her face... I'll never forget it. She was _terrified_. Wide-eyed, panting in fear, shaking... and she wasn't reacting that way to Father Calero. I couldn't deny by the way she looked at my face that Tress was afraid of _me_.

Taking her arm to reassure her, Father Calero began to explain. "A few months ago, I started reading a series of articles written in a religious journal by a man named Finlay Keel."

Keel? Could he be a relative of Alva's?

"This man had translated some controversial and unaccepted manuscripts that were thought by some to be extra books of the Bible. They were in Aramaic, a language that not many people on Earth know - the language of Jesus's time. His theories are wild and not accepted by many, and at first, I thought they were a little out there too.

"That was until I met you."

Oh, no... it began to dawn on me just what this may be about.

Father Calero continued, with Tress half hiding herself behind him. "These articles detailed a possible end of the world. That it would all come down to a fight between the archangel Michael and the fallen angel Lucifer that would end the lives of at least half the world's population. But it seems that angels cannot walk the Earth without taking a human vessel. Someone has to act as Michael's vessel, and..."

"...And someone has to act as Lucifer's," I finished for him, my face falling. There was no hiding it; they already knew.

Nodding, Father Calero said, "The article described what these vessels were supposed to look like. The vessel of Michael fits your brother's description perfectly, but you already know that, don't you?"

Now I nodded, looking at Tress sadly.

"You showed Theresa a picture of him, so she confirmed it for me. I suppose it won't be a surprise to you to know that the description of Lucifer's vessel fits _you_ perfectly, will it?"

I shook my head.

"You may have noticed that I reacted to you a bit strangely back when you came into my office to ask for the rosary, all those months ago."

"I had noticed that."

"Yes, well, that's because I had been reading those articles, and they said that the vessel of Lucifer would bear the initials S.W., with the name of a weapon. Like the Winchester gun. They described the birthmark and where it would be located. They also said something that didn't make any sense to me until you mentioned your nickname for Theresa. One article said, 'He will call his woman by a lock of hair.' And you call her Tress."

My mind screamed at me to defend myself, to assure them that just because I was Lucifer's vessel, it didn't mean that I was evil. But the look on Tress's face, how terrified she was of me... it was still throwing me for a loop. She, being brought up in the Catholic church, and the man she loves turns out to be the instrument of her religion's main embodiment of evil. What would happen to us after this?

Because I remained silent, Father Calero went on speaking. "Still, Finlay Keel's theories seemed outlandish because he said that these vessels hadn't even been born yet, that they would be born in 1979 and 1983. He explained that they would be carried through time on multiple occasions by a rebel angel. When I told Theresa that, she knew exactly who this rebel angel might be."

At this point, Tress spoke up, although her voice still shook. "I got a key to your room at The Millstone and we waited there for him. Your friend in the trench coat?"

I covered my face with my hand. "Oh, no..."

"One of the articles had a diagram of a sigil that would send an angel back to Heaven, at least temporarily. It explained how to use it. So we drew it on the back of the door and when he came in, I put my hand on the sigil, just like the article said," Tress explained. She held up her hand to demonstrate, and then I could see the Band-Aid on her finger from where she'd cut herself to draw the symbol in blood. "I didn't think it would really work. It's crazy, to think some guy in a trench coat could be a rebel angel who carries men through time." She laughed, sounding a little hysterical. "But it did work! He turned to look at us and screamed before he disappeared in a brilliant flash of light. He really disappeared! He truly was an angel!"

"And that convinced us," Father Calero finished. "That convinced us that you really were the vessel of Lucifer."

Tress spoke directly to me for the first time, instead of just talking in my general direction like she had been. "I found your notes. The ones you wrote on the paper taped to the wall."

Again, I covered my face with my hand.

"Just what does all that mean, Sam? 'Theresa dies, early 1978.' Were you _planning_ something? Did you romance me just to..."

Finally, I spoke up. "No, Tress, I swear, I didn't come here to hurt you. I came here to save you. You were supposed to die from this brain tumor, but the rosary helped save your life."

"What does my brain tumor have to do with me dying in 1978?"

I just gaped at that question. It made no sense.

She continued. "And how did you know about...?" Tress put a hand to her stomach. "You are from the future, aren't you? Oh my God, how can this be real?"

Father Calero put a protective hand on her arm and ushered her behind him again. "I didn't fully believe those articles until we saw your friend disappear. And now we know who you really are."

"But that's not me," I tried to explain. "I would never say yes to Lucifer, not ever. I can't help that I'm supposed to be his vessel; it doesn't mean that I'm a bad person. It tortures me to even think of doing any of the things that Lucifer would want to do to the world, to fight my own brother to the death... I could never do it, I swear." I tried to catch Theresa's eye. "Tress, you know me. You love me, and I love you. You know I could never hurt you."

"Be strong, Theresa. Lucifer is a master manipulator," Father Calero warned.

"I'm not Lucifer!" I cried.

Tress put her hand on Father Calero's arm now, letting him know that she was strong and could speak for herself. "Sam, I'm sorry, but I can't take that chance. You're the vessel of _Lucifer_. I have to go this alone from now on."

Shaking my head, I groaned, "No..."

She shook her head too. "I can't, Sam, I just can't. I'm sorry, but... you can't be allowed to help me raise our baby."

Our... I almost couldn't form words after hearing that. "Our _baby?_ "

Tress nodded. "Sam, I've been to the doctor. I found out today that I'm two months pregnant."

My mind reeled, and I began to pace the carpet in front of the door with my hands in my hair. She was pregnant with our baby.

"That's why I went to see Father Calero, to get him to bless our child. And he started telling me about his concerns for me and you, and... Sam, I promise you our child will be raised in the church to try to save his or her soul. But you can't be a part of it."

I nearly exploded. "You can't keep me out of my own child's life! Please, don't do this to me!"

Tress burst into tears. "How can I trust you after finding out a thing like this? Do you have any idea what this means?" I took a few steps toward her, and Father Calero put himself solidly between us, a warning hand held out. We began to circle the room like fighters in a boxing ring. "How do I know Satan isn't already in there?!" She sobbed mournfully. "Sam, what did you put in me? I saw _Rosemary's Baby!_ "

I couldn't help it, I laughed at the absurdity of what she'd just said. It made them both jump. "What do I have to do? Do I have to touch one of these crosses?" Going to the nearest wall, I put my hand on a crucifix and held it for what seemed like a sufficient amount of time, then took it off the wall and pressed it to my face. "See? It doesn't burn me. No Lucifer, just Sam in here."

A ray of hope appeared on Tress's face, but she still shook her head. "No, I can't allow myself to be swayed by your tricks. 'Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.'"

"Tress, look at me. Can't you see how happy we would be together? You, me, and our baby. Please don't take that away from us." I must've looked like a little lost puppy at that moment, having no idea if such a face would gain back her trust or just make her more suspicious of my motives. "I wasn't trying to put some kind of Satanic monster baby inside you. I just assumed you were on birth control."

Rolling her eyes, Tress replied, "Sam, I'm _Catholic_."

I almost couldn't help but laugh at that - it was kind of funny - but I held it back. "I should have thought of that. But I didn't, and it just happened, and here we are. Please don't run from me. I want to be a father to our child."

She just kept shaking her head. "I should have known there was something wrong here. It was all too good to be true. You were too perfect. You were everything I wanted in a man. Cute, kind, sweet, and the sex was so good..." 

"...The sex was that good?" I asked before I could stop myself.

Tress shouted back, "You were just temptation! And now look where we are!"

"Tress, please..."

Without acknowledging my pleas, she said, "If the baby is a girl, I'll name it after the mother of Jesus, and if the baby is a boy, I'll name it after the apostle of Tarsus. This baby may be your child, but we can save it yet."

At this point, I broke. I started to rush at her, intending to take her in my arms and beg her not to leave me, but she held up the crucifix in her hand at arm's length and brandished it like a weapon, like the mere sight of it was supposed to make me shrivel up and scream in pain. "'Be on your guard! Your enemy the devil is like a roaring lion! He prowls around looking for someone to chew up and swallow. Stand up to him! Stand firm in what you believe!'" Tress cried.

Her religious fervor almost scared me, but I had to remember how she'd been raised and who I now was to her. The crucifix could not hurt me, though, so I grabbed her arm and wrenched it out of the way, taking her in my arms and trying to kiss her. Tress, of course, cried out in fear and struggled with me. Father Calero wanted to intervene, but he simply wasn't as strong as me; his attempts to make me let go of her did little to dislodge Tress from my embrace.

"Tress, can't you see it's me?" I kissed her cheeks, her lips, her chin, with no response but frightened struggles. "You know me, you love me, just use your empathy to feel what's in my heart. I want us to get married and raise our child together. Please, Tress, I can't help what I am. I would never say yes to Lucifer, not ever. Please trust me again!"

In retrospect, I think it may've been a mistake to bring up the empathy; I knew it wasn't a subject Tress was comfortable talking about, it was more just something she did and didn't acknowledge out loud. She let out a scream so full of terror that I let go of her immediately. It tore me up to hear her scream like that over me touching her. I was trying to woo Tress back into my arms, but she could only look at it as restraint.

Tress ran from me then, into the kitchen, where she took a butcher knife out of the block. With Father Calero and I watching in horror, she held the knife up in front of her and aimed it at her stomach, threatening to stab herself. "If you come any closer, I'll kill this baby right here and now! Don't think I won't do it!"

Even Father Calero tried to talk her out of it. "No, Theresa, that's not the way. Put the knife down."

"I'll put the knife down as soon as he leaves," Tress declared.

Stunned, I took a step toward her, and she brought the knife a few inches closer to her body, giving me an intense look that told me that she meant it. "Tress, I..."

"Just go," she commanded.

Every part of my being told me to stay and fight, but I knew that I couldn't. Tress meant what she said. I don't pretend to fully understand her fear and her beliefs, but then again, I know what's in my heart regarding being Lucifer's vessel. I've had to live with it for months. Tress had only known about it for a few hours. So I backed out of the kitchen, still trying to convince her to change her mind.

"I'm going to leave for now, but this isn't over, Tress. I'm sorry, I know you're scared, but you can't deny you still love me. You know deep down that I'm not a bad person. Please, just take a little time to think this over."

I had reached the front door. Father Calero opened it for me. "Don't worry about her, Sam. We will take care of Theresa." He shoved me out into the hall. "Go back to your own time. You're not welcome here anymore." And he slammed the door in my face.

I stood outside the door for a few minutes, stunned, unable to move, just listening to Tress cry inside the apartment while Father Calero tried to comfort her. A desperate, weak little voice inside me insisted that Father Calero was one of them, that he was possessed by one of the demons, and they were working to eradicate me from Tress's life so they could get at Paul... but a stronger voice said no. _You know what's really going on here,_ that voice said. _Do the work, stupid._

Voices began to play themselves back in my head. Things I had heard over the course of the last few months. They told me that something was wrong here. Something didn't fit.

Tress's comment that The Eagles showed a lot of promise. Bo, telling me I was younger than I looked. The fact that Tress had heard of the _Exorcist_ book, but had no knowledge of the movie's existence. The suspicions that little Alva had thrown into the mix, and even the boy's current age. _Do the math, Sam. Do the math._ All of it had me rushing outside to find the latest newspaper.

It wasn't the weekend, so the paper wasn't that thick, but it still felt like a weight in my hands as I examined it closely. June 28, 1978, it said just under the name of the paper.

I looked up at the billboard for _Animal House_ across the street from Tress's building. _Coming December 1978, National Lampoon's Animal House._

Somehow, at that moment, it dislodged a memory that hadn't come to me before, a memory of Dean once saying that he wished he could have seen _Animal House_ when it first came out...

...in the _summer_ of 1978.

There was a rushing of wind beside me, of angel's wings coming to rest. I didn't have to look to know it was Castiel. "You know what happened?"

He sighed in regret. "Yes, Sam, I know. I'm sorry."

I looked at the newspaper again. "Something isn't right about all this. You might as well come clean. What's going on here, Castiel?"

For a moment, he said nothing. Then he sighed once more. "It's all come to a head, so I might as well tell you." Castiel waved his hand before my eyes and said something in Enochian, just as he had before he brought me here. I looked at the newspaper again. What I saw made me sit down hard on the bench behind me.

The date on the paper had changed.

It now said October 26.

 _1972_.

In stunned silence, I looked up at the billboard. It had also changed.

_Coming December 1972, The Poseidon Adventure._

Somehow, I found my voice. "You've been playing me this whole time. You didn't take me back to 1978 to save Tress's life."

Castiel agreed with me. "No, I didn't."

"You brought me back to 1972 so I could meet her and..." Tress's words ran through my mind again. "The mother of Jesus is Mary, and the apostle of Tarsus is..."

Castiel nodded. "Saint Paul."

I closed my eyes, letting it all wash over me. "Holy... shit. I've been so blind. All those people, never asking a thing about Paul, and you give me some bullshit explanation and I just swallow it. People weren't asking about Paul not because of some angel mojo you performed on them, but because it's 1972 and he _hasn't been born yet_. He doesn't even exist until 1973."

Nodding again, Castiel said, "Yes. You're right, Sam."

"There never were any demons. Paul isn't in hiding and no one made Tress sick. She just got cancer and that's all."

"Yes," Castiel confirmed.

I kept on talking. "The baby Tress is carrying is Paul Callan."

The angel repeated, "Yes."

"Then... _I_... am Paul Callan's father."

The blood beat so loudly in my ears that I almost couldn't hear Castiel's response. "Yes," he said.

 _Yes._ "Oh, my God." I dropped the newspaper and put my head in my hands. This truth, it was more than overwhelming. "Paul said his mother died in 1978. Then, Tress got cancer _twice_ , didn't she? First, in 1972, and then it reoccurred in 1978. The second time killed her."

"Yes, Sam." He just stood there, responding so coolly as if he hadn't just pulled the biggest sham on me that changed my life forever. "You've figured it all out."

"Why?" I asked. My voice shook with emotion. "Why did you do this to me? You did some angel trick to my eyes so I wouldn't see evidence of the true date. You lied to get me here. You lied about _everything_." Standing up, I faced Castiel, barely resisting the urge to hit him. "Why?"

"I did not lie about everything." Even with my tall frame looming over him, Cas did not seem intimidated. "It is as I told you. Paul Callan is one of the most important vessels that ever lived. He must be born. Only the unique combination of Lucifer's vessel and this woman can create that kind of vessel in this time period. It must be now. Nothing could be allowed to interfere, Sam. Not foreknowledge, not emotion, nothing. You couldn't know."

"What kind of vessel is he, Castiel? After all the lies you've told me, you owe me at least one truth."

With a curt nod, he said, "I suppose I do. Sam, he is the vessel of one of the Seraphim. Do you know what that is?"

"It's some kind of angel."

"Not just some kind of angel. The highest order of angel. They are so bright, not even I can look upon them. The task of guarding God's throne has been entrusted to them. Their might is strong and their vengeance absolute. If Michael fails to take Lucifer down, only a Seraph can defeat him.

"Seraphim normally do not walk the Earth. A vessel with the strength to contain a serpent of fire is excessively rare, the rarest of all vessels. This is why it was so important that Paul Callan be born. I'm sorry that I had to deceive you, but nothing could be allowed to keep the union of Sam Winchester and Theresa Callan from happening."

I just shook my head. "Why Tress? Is she some kind of vessel too?"

"No."

"Then how could she be the mother of a vessel like that?"

"Sam, you might as well ask why the Virgin Mary?" Castiel replied, shrugging. "We don't always understand how the formula works. It just does."

"So, now what? I've played my part, and now I'm just supposed to leave Tress and my son and go back to 2010?"

"Precisely," answered Castiel, and reached for my forehead.

"No!" I cried, smacking away his hand. "I'm not going to just be a sperm donor and leave my child to grow up without a father!"

"Theresa doesn't want to see you anymore. She will pass away in 1978 and Paul Callan will be raised by the church. That is as it is."

"No!" I yelled again. People passing us on the street turned to look. "If that's what is supposed to happen, then I'll _change_ it. We'll go get Dean and we'll both talk to Tress and get her to change her mind. He's the vessel of Michael the archangel. Both Tress and Father Calero will listen to him."

Castiel just shook his head. "Paul Callan grows up without his parents. That is as it is, and that's how it will stay. We're not taking any more chances with fate."

"Castiel!" I grabbed him by the lapels of his trench coat and yanked him forward.

"Hey there now!" A passing policeman crossed the street, rushing toward us. "What's the trouble?"

He stole my attention for a moment as I turned my head to look at him. When I turned back, Castiel touched the space between my eyes.

A split second later, we were back in the spare room at Sodalitas Quaerito, back in 2010. I took a moment to look around and then I shook Castiel in my hands, furious. "Goddamn it, no! You take me back! Take me back to 1972!"

Blood ran from his nose. The trip, as it often was, had been too much for the angel. Castiel was passing out in my grasp.

But I was too angry to stop. I shook his limp body and continued to yell at him. At some point, furious tears sprang from my eyes, and that was how everyone found us when they came running in.

My brother looked at me and then at Castiel and said, "Sam, what the hell is going on?!"

Dean was a sight for sore eyes. As far as I was concerned, I hadn't seen him in months. "Dean! Tell him he has to take me back!" I sobbed. I shook Castiel again. "Make him take me back!"

"Take you back? Take you back where?"

"To 1972!" I cried. I was near hysterics; my ability to be coherent had temporarily left me.

"Sam, Cas isn't in any shape to take anybody anywhere. Come on, let them take him somewhere where he can rest up. Mr. Keel?"

Alva and Evelyn gathered Cas up as best they could and dragged him from the room.

That's when I caught sight of Paul. The adult version of my son. I couldn't help it, I moved toward him, but he backed away, startled by how I was looking at him. Dean told me later that I had a wild, hysterical look in my eyes. No wonder I scared him. "Paul? Hey Paul. Don't be afraid."

"What's going on?" he asked. "What did you do to Castiel?"

"Nothing, he..." How could I explain it? "Cas will be fine. Paul, I want to talk to you about your father. I know a little something about him."

Paul squinted at me suspiciously. "What? How could you know anything about my father?"

"Because... I just do. Paul, your father didn't leave you because he didn't care about you and your mother. No, he loved you both very much. Maybe your father wanted to be there to watch you grow up, but he was forced to leave. Isn't it possible that he was actually a very good man, a misunderstood man, caught up in something he couldn't control? Isn't that possible?"

It wasn't working, of course; the look on Paul's face spoke of nothing but offense. "Where do you get off saying anything about my father?! He was a no-good bastard who left my mother and broke her heart, and then left me to rot in an orphanage my whole life. You don't know anything about him!"

Shaking my head, I babbled, "Did you ever think that your father couldn't be there for you because he hadn't even been born yet?" And then I collapsed to my knees, laughing hysterically. It was ludicrous, wasn't it? Here I was, faced with my son, and he was older than I was.

Paul, bewildered, just glared at me like I was insane.

Dean knelt down next to me, putting a hand on my shoulder. "Paul, I don't know what's going on, but I'll talk to my brother and find out, okay? Why don't you leave us alone?"

Nodding, Paul took one last gawking look at the crazy man puddled on the floor and left the room.

Dean turned to me. "Sam, come on." He took out a flask. "You drink from this, okay? After the performance you just put on, I'm sure you could use a belt of whiskey."

I didn't take the flask. Instead, I nearly tackled him in a hug, not only because I'd missed him, but because I needed the comfort of family. "Dean, he took me away from them," I babbled and sobbed. "He just took me away."

He couldn't have an idea in hell what I was talking about, but Dean hugged me anyway, patting my back. "It's okay, Sammy. Whatever's happened, it's okay. We'll sort it out."

I don't know how long we knelt on the floor like that, me having my little breakdown, but eventually the tears subsided and I was able to get control of myself. And I told Dean everything.

SEQUEL COMING SOON!!


	8. The Ledge

**The Apostle of Tarsus II: Faithfully**

**Author's Notes:** I decided to release a part II of this story instead of waiting for the entire thing to be done because it was getting pretty long, and also because of season 8 of SPN. They've introduced a character that is referenced in my story, but our interpretations of that character will be VERY different. I wanted to make it clear that I came up with my interpretation years ago, which is why we write that character so differently.

 

Chapter 8: The Ledge  
Word Count: 5,149

 

Something I learned from the conversation that followed: My brother is far more cynical and prone to be suspicious of other's motives than I am. I kind of already knew that, but our talk about how Castiel had fooled me brought it home more than ever. As I went through all the things Castiel had told me and listened to Dean shoot it all down, I realized that I had been too anxious to help, too anxious to believe. Maybe it was the instant affinity I had felt with my son, the adult version of him anyway, that kept me from questioning Cas's story. Anything I could have done to help Paul, I would have done.

My head in my hands, I groaned, "I guess now we know why Cas didn't send you back too."

"Damn straight." Dean let out a sigh. "So tell me, how old did this child version of Alva Keel look?"

Another thing I had missed... "God, Dean, I am such an idiot," I replied, running my hands through my hair. "That man out there told us that he was in college in 1985, right?"

"Yeah."

"Which, if you assume he was of normal college age, makes him born sometime in the mid-1960s. If it had been 1978 when I met him, he should have been in his lower teens."

"...But the kid didn't look that old, did he?"

"No," I groaned. "The kid I met couldn't have been older than ten. Maybe... eight or so."

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Cas really put one over on you."

"Don't remind me."

Dean continued, "I can see why he didn't send me back with you. The Eagles thing, and the billboard... both things you wouldn't really pick up on, but me - "

"You practically have _Animal House_ memorized."

"Yeah," Dean laughed. He clapped his hands together. "Well, this is pretty intense, Sammy, but it's not hopeless. The fact is, your girl is pregnant with your child, and you deserve to be with them. You have a right to raise your kid. We've just got to convince Castiel to take us back to 1972."

I looked at him. "Is that all?" I said sarcastically.

Standing up, Dean came over to me and put both hands on my shoulders. "Sammy, I am not letting this go, okay? Castiel cannot use my baby brother as a sperm donor and just get away with it. That little jerk is taking us back to 1972 or I'm going to ram his head up his ass and dropkick him back to Heaven." Tears came to my eyes, to which Dean caught me up in a hug. "I'm going to fix it, okay? We'll get you back to Theresa."

"Are you sure, Dean? It's so much to ask of you," I said. "It's a whole different world. Years before you and me were even born."

Dean shrugged. "Sammy, this is the woman you want to marry. It's your _son_ , my nephew. They're our family now. I can't be unhappy as long as I'm with my family."

To that, I hugged him gratefully. "Thank you, Dean. I don't know what I would have done if you had said you wouldn't come back with me."

We discussed what this would mean for the coming Apocalypse. It was decided that going back to 1972 would be a good course of action because Lucifer and Michael couldn't fight, causing the destruction of civilization, if they didn't have their vessels. Whether or not they would find us in the past would remain to be seen.

*****

Castiel was out for a few hours. The members of SQ left us alone while we talked, but after a while, they grew anxious and impatient. I think they were worried that I had done something to put Cas in his current condition. As if he knew, Castiel fought his way to consciousness and asked to be taken to Dean and I. Mr. Keel and Evelyn brought the angel to us.

Paul stayed away on purpose. I could feel it. I had freaked him out, and he didn't think I was safe now. But that was something I could fix.

The first thing Castiel said when they brought him in the room was, "Dean. Sam. I want to talk to you."

Dean took Cas by the arm. "It's okay, I've got him."

"Do you want us to leave, Castiel?" Evelyn asked. She glanced at me, accusation in her eyes.

"Yes, it's alright," Cas replied.

He was unsteady on his feet, but awake. Castiel looked like hell, though. Dean waited for Mr. Keel and Evelyn to leave, then brought Cas closer to a nearby dusty armchair. With a snap of his arm, he flung Castiel into the chair roughly. It took Cas by surprise; he landed in a poof of dust with a grunt, then just looked up at Dean and straightened himself in the seat, a look of confusion on his tired face.

"Oh, sorry. Guess I don't know my own strength," Dean said with a snide little shrug.

Castiel's eyes shifted awkwardly. "You're angry."

Leaning down until they were eye to eye, Dean spoke with such intensity that his anger could not be denied. "What tipped you off?"

Usually, only demons and angels like Zachariah receive such a steely look from my brother. Castiel wasn't used to being in this position. "I'm sorry, Dean. Sam. But it had to be done."

Dean continued glaring at him for another five or so seconds, five or so very tense seconds where the only sound in the room was Dean's furious breathing. Then he straightened up. "You know, I could almost understand what you did. You needed Sam to hook up with this woman, you needed Paul Callan to be conceived. It was all to save the world. That's some pretty intense shit. It was the way you went about it that I can't abide by. If I didn't think it would hurt Sam more than it would hurt you, I'd hold you down right now and let him beat the shit out of you for how you handled this.

"Cas, did you ever think it might've been better if you'd just told Sam the truth?"

"Things were never meant to go this far," Castiel responded. It was the first time I'd seen guilt on his face since I'd found out what he'd been up to. "What if I had told Sam the truth? Do you think anything would have turned out differently? Do you think it would have been possible for Sam to impregnate Theresa Callan and then just leave if he had known everything?" He grew more frustrated, his voice strained. "We're working with a very precarious balance here, Dean. Paul Callan must be born. All we know is that in no alternate universe does Theresa wind up with Sam. Her name is always Theresa Callan. She dies unmarried. Her son grows up in an orphanage. What could happen if we allow that to change? Are you willing to take those chances with the lives of everyone on this planet? Well I'm sorry, but I'm not." Cas pounded his fist on the arm of the chair, kicking up a fresh cloud of dust.

It took Dean a few seconds to digest what he'd just heard. "You're saying that there are alternate universes with Sams and Theresas and Deans in them?"

"Yes."

"And in none of those universes does this end happily for my brother?"

"Exactly."

"So you're thinking that if you allow Sam and Theresa to be together, it will somehow fuck up this balance you're trying to preserve."

Castiel nodded.

"Cas..." Circling the room as he spoke, Dean did something he's very good at - he talked us down off the ledge. "Do you remember when we were trapped in the Beautiful Room together, just waiting for the Apocalypse to begin, and you wouldn't let me out to stop Sam from freeing Lucifer? Do you remember the lesson I taught you there?"

Castiel gave it some thought. "You taught me about the value of freedom."

"Yes. I told you that I'd rather have Sam and all the pain that love can bring than Paradise any day. We as humans take the good with the bad just to have the freedom to make our own decisions. My feelings on that haven't changed.

"I don't care what's happened in all these other universes. The world may have been saved there, but that doesn't mean it can't be saved here too. It doesn't mean we can't create a new example, a universe where Theresa becomes a Winchester and Sam helps raise his child." Dean squeezed the angel's shoulder. "You rebelled for a reason, Cas. You can't keep being afraid of taking chances. It's what life on Earth is all about."

With an anguished expression and a long sigh, Castiel thought it over. "Joshua said it was up to me. I just want to make the right decision."

I came over to him then, placing my hand over his and squeezing it. "Castiel, please... I want to be with Theresa and Paul. Please take the chance." I would get down on my knees and beg if I had to.

Looking down at my hand, Cas's expression was as troubled as I've ever seen it. So full of sorrow and uncertainty. He looked up at Dean. "You believe in this so much that you're willing to make the sacrifice of living in a time you've never known?"

With great sincerity, Dean nodded and said, "Yes."

Cas folded his hands, thinking, trying to come up with every possible scenario. "What about Theresa? She said she didn't want to see you anymore."

I nodded. "That doesn't mean we can't change her mind."

With a confident smile, Dean added, "I'm Michael's vessel. I can convince her Sammy is okay."

Castiel knew our logic was sound; there wasn't anything else he could say that would sway us. "Theresa is a devout Catholic... the words of the vessel of Michael would hold a great deal of weight with her." Once more, he sighed. "Alright. We can try it." He looked at me. "But if Theresa rejects you, you have to agree to come back to 2010."

"It's agreed," I said with relief.

I was lying, though. If Theresa rejected me, I would stay and keep trying to convince her to take me back. I would never leave my son and the woman I love like the Sams of those other dimensions. Nothing would be allowed to break me.

I knew what would happen to Theresa and Paul if I gave up.

*****

There were many things to consider before heading back to 1972. This would be, as far as we knew, for the rest of our lives. All of Dad's storage spaces, gone. Everything in them, gone. We wouldn't be there to pay the bills anymore. Maybe we could convince Cas to take us back to empty them out before it was too late - he had all of time at his disposal - but we had to leave assuming that we may never see some of those things again.

When I thought of Tress and our son, it didn't matter. I would leave it all behind for them.

We would not see the Bobby we knew again. That hurt most of all.

But there was one family member we might be able to take; we just had to convince Castiel that it was worth the effort. "You want me to transport your _car_ back to 1972?"

Sheepishly, Dean replied, "Yeah?"

Cas glared at him for a moment. "It means that much to you?"

"That and more." Dean ran a hand over the Impala's hood. "She's like a family member."

"But I've already worn myself out taking Sam through time. You, your brother, and a _car_..." Castiel shook his head, grumbling to himself.

Shrugging, Dean said, "We could always wait until you feel better..."

Cas shook his head again. "No, no... it's too dangerous for Sam to be around his adult son for too long. Nothing can upset - "

"The balance, yeah, I know. We don't want adult Paul to know too much about his own destiny. Who knows when the Apocalypse will actually happen, huh?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. Alright... we'll go today... and I'll _try_ to transport your car back as well."

The look on his face... he had never carried anything but people through time, and that could lay him up for a day or more. "Cas, are you sure you'll be okay if you take the car with us?"

His face said it all. Eyes wide, eyebrows up, and a cynical twist to his mouth... "Do you want me to lie to you?"

"So it's risky."

To that, Castiel let out a little chuckle. "I've found that everything with you two involves a bit of risk." He smiled sincerely at me. "But I think I owe it to you to try."

I grinned back. "We'll make sure we have a room ready for you once we get there."

The corners of Cas's smile turned up a little more.

I added, "Thank you, Castiel."

He looked down, ashamed. "I'm sorry I had to deceive you. I never meant to hurt you, Sam. Or Theresa."

"I know." I came over and gave him a pat on the shoulder.

Before we left, Castiel said we had five minutes to say goodbye to the members of SQ. And of course, he cautioned me on what to say. I knew the risks, and I knew exactly what to say to my son.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Evelyn asked Castiel. "Maybe you shouldn't travel right now."

He waved off her concern. "Don't worry, I'll be alright." Cas tried to smile. "Angels are built pretty tough."

"Do you really have to go? We've still got an Apocalypse to deal with," Mr. Keel reminded us.

"Don't worry about that either, Mr. Keel," I responded. "We'll take care of it."

"We're hoping to head it off at the pass," added Dean.

It seemed Paul had relaxed a bit, but he was still reluctant to let his guard down. He held out his hand for me to shake. "Wherever you go, good luck."

At first, I took his hand and shook it, but then I pulled him into a hug. Paul squirmed a little, then accepted my hug politely. When I moved away, I kissed his cheek. He looked at me like I'd grown another head before his eyes. The look of confusion on his face almost made me laugh with fondness.

"You'll never be alone again, Paul. I promise," I told him.

Paul scoffed. "Okay."

He thought I was crazy. It didn't matter. It was important to me to tell him that.

I wouldn't see the adult version of my son for several years.

Dean and I took the time to write a letter to Bobby, explaining where we were going and that if he saw us again, we wouldn't be as he remembered us. We included the keys to all Dad's storage lockers so maybe Bobby could look after them. It seemed final then, when we dropped that thick envelope in the mail. We were really going back in time for good.

While I waited by the Impala, Dean stood alone beside the post office and made a phone call to someone. I'm not sure who, but it was someone he would miss. He deserved to take that time to say goodbye.

Dean and I sat in the front seat of the Impala as Cas stood before the car, taking deep breaths with his eyes closed. He concentrated, preparing himself to transport us all back to 1972.

"You think he can really do this?" I asked Dean.

Cas raised both hands, the first two fingers on each pointing up.

Dean grabbed the steering wheel. "We're about to find out."

I held onto the car too as Castiel put his fingers on the hood.

*****

The next thing we knew, we were on a road next to a field, the Boston of 2010 behind us. I looked at Dean, his hands still on the steering wheel. He opened one eye for a peek.

We had made it. The post office was gone; it hadn't been built yet.

I yelled out to Castiel. "Cas, is this 1972?"

Cas answered me by vomiting blood all over the hood of the Impala. Then he collapsed to the ground.

"Castiel!" It shouldn't have been so shocking to us; it wasn't like we hadn't see him collapse after a time jump before. But the sight of that blood, and the sheer amount of it... it had us rushing to his side. We carried him to the backseat of the car and placed Cas inside, laying him down to make him as comfortable as possible. Jimmy Novak, the vessel, was still breathing, a good sign. He would just need some rest as usual. How much rest, we had no idea.

It took us over five minutes to find an unattended garden hose and outdoor faucet with which we could wash the blood from the hood of the car. Although we had to drive around to find the hose, worried the whole time that someone would see the blood running off our car, no one was around. Just a plot of farmland with a small house on it.

I was about as nervous as I have ever been as we rode the elevator up to Tress's floor. In a way, I wished we could have had Cas with us, mostly so he could explain himself to Tress and Father Calero, but we had to leave him passed out in the back of the Impala. I hoped they would not think I had hurt Cas in some way, like Paul had; that certainly wouldn't help.

We decided it would be best if Dean spoke first. He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Father Calero asked.

"Dean Winchester," Dean responded, calm and collected. Then he added, "You know who I am."

There was a pause. I imagined Father Calero checking the peephole. "What are you doing here with _him_?" the priest finally said.

"He's my brother," Dean answered, "and you have nothing to fear from him. I'm asking you to let us in so we can talk."

I could hear Tress and Father Calero talking back and forth for a moment before he disengaged all the locks and opened the door. "I'm letting you in because you're the vessel of Michael the archangel, and that makes you someone I am obligated to indulge. But I want you both to realize that our minds are made up. Theresa is coming back to the church with me and - "

"Save it, Padre," Dean said, putting up a silencing hand. "I already know that part."

Tress stared at Dean in awe. "You're just as the articles described," she said to him. It was weird for me, seeing the way she looked at my brother. I knew there was nothing romantic about that look, but it still made me jealous, especially since she viewed me as a monster. "You're Michael's vessel."

"That's right. And you know what that means?" Dean played every card he had in his deck. He glared at Father Calero. "It means you should show me some respect."

Father Calero's face twitched only slightly, but it was enough to tell us that Dean's ploy was working. He actually said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

Putting on a charming smile, Dean replied, "That's okay. Now, as you can see, Castiel brought us both back."

"Castiel? Is that..."

"The rebel angel," Dean confirmed. "These trips through time wear him out, so he's resting in our car. Cas brought me here because I wanted to talk to you about my brother."

Tress glanced at me, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I don't know what you think you can say to - "

"Theresa, hear me out, okay?"

She gave a little shiver when he said "Theresa," like her name had been spoken by a revered creature. Another stab of jealousy nicked at my heart.

Dean continued. "I have known Sam for his entire life. I have been there for practically every minute. No one knows my brother better than I do. No one has been through as much as I have with him. I have changed his diapers, cleaned his wounds, picked him up when he fell down and dressed his skinned knees... I have gotten his meals, made sure he left for school on time, and even watched him sleep. Some people might say that I have been like a parent to him when our father couldn't. And I'm telling you, I know his heart."

At this point, I began to tear up.

"I'm not saying that Sam is perfect. He's just as flawed as any human being. And I'm not saying that he hasn't been manipulated in the past and done some foolish things. But my brother cares a lot more than even I do for what's right, and doing what's moral, and living his life in the most fair and compassionate way possible. When I have given up on someone, he still makes an effort to reach them. Lord knows he has no reason to be hopeful after all we've been through, but he still has an amazing capacity for it, even after I have thrown in the towel. The fact that he's Lucifer's vessel has nothing to do with his character, I assure you."

Tress now looked at me, and she teared up as well.

Dean put a hand over his heart. "I promise you... I _swear_ to you... Sam will never say yes to Lucifer. Lucifer can't possess him unless he gives his permission. Sam knows what would happen if he did that. We're trying to avoid an Apocalypse here. I know your Bible says this thing is supposed to happen someday, but not like this. There's nothing natural or destiny-related about the way this Apocalypse began. And Sam certainly has more than ever to lose now that he has you, Theresa, and your child. Why would he let the world be destroyed when he has a family to think of?" Looking at her stomach, he grinned fondly. "I can't wait to be an uncle. Please, let me be a part of this. Let us both be a part of this."

Out of emotion, Tress sucked in a breath and started to cry again. She looked at Father Calero. "I don't know what to do."

He patted her shoulder. "Dean, you said the Apocalypse has already begun. I don't understand..."

"It's going on right now, in the year we came from."

"2010," I added quietly. My voice quavered with emotion too.

"But it can't be completed unless we accept Lucifer and Michael into our bodies and fight to the death."

"And that will never happen," I said.

"I don't understand why you're here, then," Father Calero wondered aloud. "Why are you in the year 1972?"

"So Paul could be conceived," Dean explained. "It's probably better if Cas gives you all the details once he's awake. But that baby you're carrying, Theresa, he's a very important vessel. A holy vessel."

She ran her hands over her stomach. "An angel?"

Dean nodded. "One of the strongest. We don't know if he'll ever have to act as that vessel, but Castiel and others in high places thought it was absolutely essential that he be born."

For the first time since that morning, Tress smiled, rubbing her stomach lovingly. "He's not a child of evil?"

"No... no, Theresa. Not at all. For some reason, he needed the combination of Lucifer's vessel and you to be born as this ultra strong vessel. No other combination would work." Dean reached over and stroked my head a few times, smiling fondly. "It doesn't really surprise me that my brother would make a vessel like that. One that could save the world. It's like I told you..." He squeezed the back of my neck gently, giving me a little shake. "...no one knows my Sammy like I do."

Tress watched us, a small smile coming to her face. "I... I'm conflicted over this. On one hand, I know what you are, Sam. But on the other hand..." She put both palms over her heart. "You two love each other _so much_. It's written all over your faces, your body language... it's so genuine. How could Sam be evil if you... _Michael's vessel_... love him that much?"

We were reaching her. I approached Tress, and she did not move away. Getting down on one knee before her, I took Tress's hand. "Please, give me the chance to be a father to our child. Give me the chance to prove to you that I'm still the Sam you know. I'm a good person. That hasn't changed." I thought of what she'd said, and it hurt. "How could you think that we made a child of evil after all we've been through together?"

Tears overcame her again. "I'm sorry, Sam. It's just..."

"We made Paul out of love and passion. That wasn't an evil act."

"I know. I know."

"Tress, please, I'll beg if I have to. Please let me prove to you that there's nothing evil about me or our life together. I could never be a bad person as long as I have you, and Paul, and Dean. Let me show you what a great husband and father I can be." I held her hand and kissed the back of it. "Marry me, Tress."

Putting her hand to her mouth, she cried for a moment, weighing it all out in her mind. "Oh Sam," she said, and hugged me around the neck. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you."

Tress crouched down and we held each other and both bawled like babies. "I'm sorry, Sam. I know you're not evil. You can't help what you are. I'm sorry I tried to send you away."

We kissed several times, as if there was no one else in the room. "It's okay. I know it must've been hard to hear such a thing about the person you love."

"After I felt how much you and your brother love each other, I knew you couldn't be evil. No one can manufacture feelings like that."

So her empathy had redeemed us after all.

I was so wrapped up in reconciling with Tress that I was only dimly aware of Dean's conversation with Father Calero. "You're still worried about my brother."

There must have been something in the priest's reaction to Tress accepting my marriage proposal; the look on his face, the continued tenseness of his shoulders... Father Calero sighed. "I am. I'm not sure that this isn't all some elaborate manipulation of Theresa's feelings. He's the _vessel_ of _Lucifer_ for God's sake."

"I promise you, this is all very genuine. No one's manipulating Theresa into anything." I looked over and saw Dean put a hand on the priest's shoulder. "Sam will never... _never_... say yes to Lucifer."

"I wish that even you could convince me."

"Okay... then think of it this way. If it comes to that, and Sam says yes, then me and Michael will be there to face Lucifer. Alright? It's not going to happen, but does knowing that make you happy?" Dean was starting to get angry; there was an edge to his voice.

Father Calero nodded. "Yes. Yes, it does make me feel better."

"Alright, then." He gestured toward the door. "Will you accompany me to Sam's hotel? I need someone to help me carry Castiel up to his room, where he can rest." Then Dean looked at Tress and I. "These two deserve some time alone after what they've been through today."

"Wait," Father Calero began. He turned to us. "If this baby is such an important vessel, then I think you all should go into hiding. Let the church protect you from Lucifer. Surely he wouldn't want this vessel to be born."

I immediately replied, "No. Paul is going to have a normal childhood."

"Sam - "

"Father Calero, I appreciate your concern." I stood, bringing Tress to her feet with me. "But in the dimension we came from, I met the adult version of my son. He had grown up without me, because Tress sent me away. In fact, Paul grew up in an orphanage - your orphanage. In that dimension, Tress died of a brain tumor in 1978."

Tress squeezed me tight around the chest with a shiver. I held her close to me.

"That Paul had a childhood filled with grief and loneliness. I'm not saying that you didn't do a good job raising him and giving him as much love as you could, but you must've had a hundred kids to take care of over all those years. I want Paul's childhood to be as normal as possible, with the love of both his parents, and his uncle too. He's not going to spend it hiding from the world because Lucifer might find us here."

Rubbing his chin, Father Calero asked, "You say Theresa dies of a brain tumor in 1978? Is... is something like that destined to happen in this dimension too?"

I stroked Tress's hair. "No, it's not going to happen here, because we're going to prevent it. Tress will have checkups as often as it takes to keep the cancer from coming back." Inside, I prayed that CAT scans would come into use very, very soon, so she wouldn't have to endure another PEG.

Father Calero nodded again, letting out a breath and relaxing a bit. "Good. Ah, Theresa, are you sure about all this?"

She nodded her head at him. "It's alright now."

"Okay. But... just so we're clear... Sam, we'll be keeping an eye on you." The priest looked at me with intensity, eyes steely. "The church will not allow Theresa or her child to be hurt."

With a roll of his eyes, Dean put a warning hand on Father Calero's shoulder. "Easy, Padre. Don't let your mouth write any checks your ass can't cash."

Father Calero stared at him in slight confusion. "What?"

"Nothing, just come with me, okay? Sam won't hurt anybody while we're gone." He steered the priest toward the door. Over his shoulder, he said, "Sammy, I'll be back in a couple hours."

"Okay."

As they were going out the door, Dean added, "This is going to be interesting. A priest and some dude carrying a guy in a trench coat through a hotel lobby. We'll have to pretend Cas is drunk or something." He chuckled. "It'll be quite a sight."

I gave Dean the key to my hotel room and they were gone. Tress wrapped her arms around my neck again. "I promise I'll get you a ring as soon as I can," I told her, running my hands up and down her sides. "A beautiful diamond ring."

She kissed me, then moved my hand up to her breast. "Make love to me," Tress whispered.

I did. We made love slow and easy, and everything was okay again.


	9. Religious Experience

Chapter 9: Religious Experience  
Word Count: 4,981

 

I could tell that Dean was concerned for us after all we'd been through that day; instead of staying in the hotel room with Cas, he left him a note and slept on Tress's couch so he could watch over us for a few days.

It was funny how Tress hero-worshipped Dean at first, and how brief that lasted. She looked at him as some sort of holy being, as if he wasn't even human - the vessel of Michael the archangel! But all it took was Dean coming in for breakfast, hair sticking up all over the place while he poured himself a cup of coffee, standing in the kitchen in his boxers and a T-shirt and throwing in a loud burp for good measure, to shatter her image of the holy vessel. I watched the awe slowly vanish from her face as Dean reached back and gave his ass a good scratch. "G'morning," he mumbled on his way back to the living room, where he put some cartoons on the TV.

Tress had to be alone for a little while after that. When I mentioned it to her, she sighed and said, "Even Jesus was human, I guess."

Another day went by before Castiel woke up. That car must've really tired him out. We found out he was awake because he just popped in while we were having lunch, scaring Tress half to death.

"Hello again, Theresa."

She let out a little scream. "How the heck did you get in - oh."

Cas smiled with his mouth closed.

"Hey Cas. How ya feelin'?" Dean asked.

"I'm well, thank you." His hands clasped behind his back, he looked at us. "How are all of you?"

We exchanged pleasantries and Tress indulged her curiosity for a moment, asking if she could touch Cas's skin. He let her put a hand on his cheek. "It feels normal. Just like a regular guy."

"How did you expect it to feel?"

"I don't know. Hot? He's got an angel inside him." The awe was back, but that was okay. Cas was unlikely to shatter her image of him by scratching his ass. "What's it like to travel through time?"

Castiel immediately responded with, "Exhausting."

She turned to Dean and I. "Is it weird to be back in a time where you technically haven't been born yet?"

"Sometimes."

"I think the hardest thing to get used to will be the lack of technology. No Internet, no cell phones... but, we lived without them when we were little." Dean shrugged. "It's not that bad, living in 1972." Suddenly, something occurred to him and he got this emotional, overwhelmed look on his face. "It's 1972."

"Yeah... Dean, what's the matter?" I asked.

His eyes were glistening. Dean stammered out, "In 1973, Led Zeppelin will release 'Houses of the Holy,' and embark on a tour of North America. They'll play three sold out shows at Madison Square Garden which will be taped for their concert film _The Song Remains the Same_. And... and I can be there." We were all quite shocked when he stood up, went over to Cas, and kissed him full on the lips. Tress and I stifled our giggles. "Thank you for bringing me here!" Dean cried.

Flummoxed, Castiel nearly blushed. He simply replied, "You're welcome, Dean."

I was glad that Dean was finding ways to be happy in a strange time. He did it all for me, for us, and the thought of him being miserable in 1972 would not have set well with me.

Once she'd recovered from her giggle fit, Tress said, "That's amazing, that you've heard Led Zeppelin albums that haven't even been released yet." She worked on getting to know her future brother-in-law better. "My favorite songs by them are probably 'Rock n' Roll,' 'Misty Mountain Hop,' and 'Stairway to Heaven.' What are yours?"

I'd heard him talk about this a hundred times over the years. "Oh, that's easy. 'Ramble On' and 'Travelin' Riverside Blues.' Yours are good too, though."

"I've never heard of that second song."

"It won't be released until the '80s, when they put out 'Coda.'"

"Wow, I can't wait to hear this album." Tress rested her chin in her hand and let out a dreamy sigh. "I wish I was from the future."

That sounded so absurd, I couldn't help it; I dissolved into chuckles.

Dean looked at me quite seriously. "Hey, as long as it hasn't happened yet, can we save John Bonham?"

*****

Tress and I were married two months later. There wasn't time and money for a big church wedding, something I knew bothered her.

"In a couple years, we can renew our vows and have the wedding you really want," I promised her. Tress nodded and smiled, cuddling up against me in bed. "With Father Calero marrying us, and a big fancy reception..."

"And a beautiful white dress," she added.

"Then we can honeymoon in Hawaii."

Tress made a wounded sound in the back of her throat. "And my mother will come to the ceremony."

All I could do was hold her and try to soothe her hurt. Her mother had ignored all her letters of reconciliation. She had said nothing in reply to Tress's good news about the cancer going into remission. When Tress tried to call and invite her to the wedding, the woman had hung up on her.

I gave it a try myself. "Mrs. Callan?"

"Who is this?" She sounded like a brusk, authoritative person who had no time for anyone who might waste it. The kind of woman Dean would call a "high-riding bitch."

"My name is Sam. I'm calling - "

"The Sam my daughter is marrying?"

"Yes, and - "

_Click._

Tress and I were married in a simple ceremony at City Hall. They allowed us to decorate a bit, with lots of roses (Tress's favorite flower). Dean served as my Best Man and Michelle from work acted as Tress's Maid of Honor.

Mrs. Callan did not show her face at the ceremony. It would take something else entirely to finally bring her to Boston.

When Tress was six months pregnant, she disappeared for almost two weeks. We had been packing in preparation for a new, two bedroom apartment, which would be our transitional place. Eventually, we wanted to get a house, a real home for Paul, where he could have his own room. When I came home from work that day, I found a half-packed box near the kitchen and a dinner that was only partially made. There was a bowl of chopped lettuce on the counter and a tomato on the cutting board; it had been sliced three times and then the knife had been set down. Like she had suddenly left right in the middle of making a salad, without covering any of it or putting it in the fridge to keep it fresh. Strange.

"Tress?" I called to the empty apartment. She was not there.

I made some phone calls. No one had seen her. She wasn't hanging out at any of the usual places she might be found.

I was frantic. I had a pregnant wife, no cell phones to make it easier to reach her, and the threat of Lucifer and demons looming over our heads. Dean tried to keep me calm. If demons had taken her, wouldn't there be signs of a struggle? I thought that was likely. Still, where was my wife?

One of the first persons I questioned was Cas. He claimed he knew nothing. Being that he had lied to me in the past, I wasn't sure I believed him.

Bizarre stories began circulating in the local news. A man who lived in the building next to ours had been stricken blind when he looked out his window and saw "the brightest light" he'd ever seen in his life floating in the air next to our building. Close to our floor. Close to the window of our kitchen.

Again, I interrogated Castiel. "A bright light? Some guy sees a light bright enough to blind him next to our window and you're telling me you know nothing?"

"Sam, I'm telling you the truth."

"Tress has obviously been taken by some sort of angel and you insist you know nothing about it?!"

"Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying. Whatever's going on, no one has told me." Cas sighed, his face looking almost as worried as mine. "They wouldn't hurt Paul. I swear, there isn't an angel alive who would harm the vessel of a Seraph. No one would _dare_."

"But, what about Uriel? He killed other angels in Lucifer's name. All it takes is an angel who wants to make sure the Apocalypse happens, and..." Getting choked up, I almost started to cry. "You and I both know there are _plenty_ of them who would die for Lucifer. Those angels wouldn't care if they pissed off a Seraph."

I don't think Castiel had thought of that. He looked quite wide-eyed and distraught in reaction. "I'll talk to Joshua. See what I can find out."

Almost two weeks later, another strange story emerged in the news. This one scared the hell out of all of us and sent me into a frenzied, tearful rage that lasted all night.

A homeowner in Houston, Texas had caught a woman in his home, leaning over his baby's crib at around three in the morning. When she turned around, he saw that she had streaks of blood on her face.

And no eyes.

Instead, her eye sockets were filled with ice blue light. She had some sort of liquid, the same shade of blue, on her fingers. The man ordered her to move away from the crib, pulling the gun he used to protect his home. She did not respond. When the woman tried to walk past him, he told her to stay put until the police arrived. She did not comply. He shot her in the chest. She ignored this and walked out of the house.

The woman was pregnant.

She matched Tress's description.

In fact, the man lived close to a bank, and the woman was caught on the surveillance cameras that monitored the parking lot. It was my Tress.

The rest of the country found it a bizarre little tidbit to mull over for a brief moment, then go on with their day. I suspect most thought it was a hoax, while those who believed in "that sort of stuff" would form their theories on who or what had stolen into the family's home that night.

We already knew.

Dean and Castiel tried to calm me down. "So Tress is possessed by the angel who took her. How can she be possessed?" I sobbed to Cas. "You told me she wasn't a vessel."

"She's not," Castiel replied. He sat down on the end of bed where I was sitting, the bed I shared with Tress. "Theresa is not a vessel... but she's _carrying_ one."

I brought my head up. Dean and I shared a look. "What? The angel is possessing _Paul?_ "

"How can that be?" Dean asked. "How do you get permission to possess a fetus?"

"This angel is a Seraph. He has remarkable powers. There are ways for him to communicate with Paul, even in the womb."

"But what for? What's it up to?" Dean said.

Cas looked up at Dean. "You haven't figured that out yet?"

Sniffling, I said, "The Seraph was leaning over the baby's crib. He was feeding something to the baby, just like Yellow Eyes did to me. Was it angel blood?"

"Angel blood is the same color as the vessel's blood," Castiel said, shaking his head. "Though, Seraphim are different... far more powerful than myself..."

"Whatever it was, I bet the Seraph was doing the same thing Yellow Eyes had been up to," Dean said. "Strengthening vessels."

I added, "Creating an army."

Castiel nodded. "I'm sure that he's preparing for the coming Apocalypse." Then he put his hand over mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Sam, the Seraph wouldn't do anything to harm his vessel. I'm sure that Theresa will come home safe."

I wished that could have made me feel better. "But will she come home in the same condition as she left?"

Would my wife come home a blind woman with burned out eyes? Would she have a bullet in her? Or would the Seraph leave her as he found her?

And how long would this angel's "mission" take? How long would Tress be gone?

It was the next morning that we first heard from the absent mother-in-law. I answered the phone, and she snapped, "What is happening to my daughter?"

"Mrs. Callan?"

"Yes, Mrs. Callan. I saw the news. What the hell is going on over there?"

How did I explain this? And what right did she have to be angry anyway, after refusing our calls? "This isn't something I want to explain over the phone."

"So you can explain it?"

The incredulous tone to her voice almost made me laugh. Yes, it was quite a crazy story already, just from how it looked. "Sort of."

"Listen, you. I know you knocked my daughter up and got her to marry you, but that doesn't mean you have the right to do... whatever it is you've done..."

"I haven't done anything!" I snapped back. Just what did the woman think I could have done to Tress that would cause something as strange as what she'd seen on the news? "And why is it any concern of yours anyway? After you've ignored her letters and hung up on both of us, then broke her heart by skipping our wedding? Now you care?"

"You...!" I could hear her breathing hard, trying to contain her anger. "Alright. I know I've been stubborn and unforgiving, but that doesn't mean I don't love Terry. Whatever I have to do, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. Mark my words."

And she hung up on me. Again.

That two week period was one of the hardest of my life. Stricken with worry, I could hardly work, but I needed to, to earn money for our future. Tress didn't want us to get our money illegally, so Dean went to work as a mechanic in a local garage, and I kept working my busboy job. It was a Saturday, and I had been lugging one heavy tub of dishes and glasses after another into the humid kitchen area. It left me pretty tired. I had just sat down and wiped my brow with the back of my hand when I looked up and saw Tress standing there. She looked at me, bewildered, alarmed, and reached out her arms.

Her eyes were intact. Thank God in heaven, Tress had eyes again.

"Sam?" she said.

She looked okay. The streaks of blood on her face seemed to have been partially wiped off, as if she'd tried to do it without the aid of soap and water.

"Tress!" I cried, and jumped up, taking her in my arms and hugging her tightly. "You're okay!" Even as I said that, I held her at arm's length and checked her out. There was a bullet hole in her blouse, just above her heart, with a ring of blood around the edges. I peeked inside and saw no bullet hole in her chest. Apparently, the Seraph had healed her. Thank God. "Oh Tress, he brought you back okay!"

We held each other while a few of the patrons stared at us, wondering what was going on. We're lucky none of them recognized her. Although it made the national news, it wasn't that big a headline anyway. Most people seemed to think it was all fake.

"Sam, what happened to me? I blacked out or something. I was in the kitchen and I saw this light, and there was a voice, and then I was here, in the lobby. There was so much _light_ ," she babbled.

She didn't remember it. Of course. It was just like Jimmy Novak - his memory had been very limited on what the experience of being possessed by an angel was like. But in Tress's case, she hadn't even been the one possessed.

I tried to reassure her. "It's okay, baby. You're alright. I'll explain it to you when we get home."

Bo came running over. "Hey, Theresa! It's Theresa! She's okay!" He looked at her blood-streaked face. "Where have you been? Are you alright? You were gone for so long!"

"I was?" Tress looked at me helplessly. I have never seen such confusion and anguish on her face at once, all wide, pained eyes and tense mouth.

"Bo, she's okay. I'm going to take her home and look after her. I'll give you the full story once I know it."

Bo nodded at me, patting Tress's shoulder.

As I was walking Tress out of the hotel, she caught sight of a newspaper machine near the front door. The date on the newspaper made her knees go weak. "Sam, is that date correct? It can't be! It's supposed to be March fifth. How can it be the seventeenth?!"

I kept her from falling to her knees, holding her up. "Tress, I promise it'll be okay. Let's just get home and I'll explain everything."

"Sam, what's happening?" she nearly wailed.

"I'll explain when we get home."

Once outside, I hailed us a cab. Tress cried on my chest the entire way home. She was so scared. I think anybody would be.

As if Tress's reappearance wasn't surprise enough, I got another one when we arrived home. I opened the door, and Dean jumped up from the couch, saying, "Sam? You home early?" His face showed complete shock at the sight of Tress. "Theresa! Holy shit, where did you come from?"

Before either of us could say a word, a woman with dark hair came out of the kitchen and rushed to Tress's side. "Terry? Oh, Terry, are you okay?"

"Mom?" Tress looked at the woman, confused to see her, moving slowly as if she was in a bewildering dream. "Mommy? What are you doing here?"

"I had to come when I saw you on the news," Mrs. Callan explained.

Eyes wide, Tress squeaked, "I was on the news?!"

Mrs. Callan took Tress's face in her hands. "You have blood on your face. Are you alright?"

Tress teared up again. "I have blood..."

"She doesn't remember anything," I said, trying to explain, hoping to let everyone know that they should be careful with what they said.

Tress repeated my words. "Mom, I don't remember anything."

Hugging her daughter, Mrs. Callan tried to reassure her. "It's alright, honey. You come with Mommy into the bedroom and lie down, and I'll get you a rag to clean up your face." She put a hand on Tress's stomach. "You look like you've swallowed a basketball," she commented with a small laugh.

Tress ran her hands over her pregnant belly. "I'm six months along," she said weakly, as if she needed to explain.

Taking Tress into the bedroom to lie down is exactly what I would have done, so I didn't stop her mother when she led her into the bedroom, leaving Dean and I alone. Dean said, "She got here about an hour ago."

"Well, she did say she was going to get to the bottom of this." Having my mother-in-law there was a bit inconvenient, but it would be good for Tress. They could finally make up before Paul was born. "Did you tell her anything?"

"I didn't know what I should tell her. She's been in the kitchen making dinner, just to have something to do."

I nodded. "Tress just showed up at the hotel, out of nowhere. The Seraph fixed all her injuries, thank God."

"I'm glad that she came back okay, Sammy. It's a big relief for all of us. So, what are we going to tell her?" Dean asked.

Sighing, I answered his question with another question. "Who, Tress or her mother?"

We decided that the truth was the best answer, for both of them. It wasn't like Mrs. Callan would voluntarily leave the room while we explained it to Tress. When we came into the bedroom, Tress was lying down with a wet, folded rag on her forehead. I noticed that her mother had gotten her to change clothes, and had washed her face. The blouse with the bullet hole in it had been draped across the top of the hamper.

Again, Tress was caressing her stomach. "He's kicking," she said. "Paul is okay."

I could understand why she was concerned, after finding out she'd been missing for days and had no memory of what she'd been doing. "Can I see?"

Mrs. Callan got up from the side of the bed to allow me to sit down next to Tress and feel her stomach. My son kicked like a soccer player. "He feels perfectly healthy," I said with relief. Taking Tress's hand, I kissed her palm and ran her fingers across my cheek. "I'm glad that you're okay, too. We were worried about you."

"Sam, what happened to me?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" I asked.

Thinking about it for a second, she replied, "I was making a salad to go along with dinner, and suddenly there was this piercing whine that came from outside, it seemed. And the window in the kitchen filled with light. I remember hearing this voice... it didn't sound normal... very deep, and guttural, but it was... it was more like I heard it in my head than with my ears. It said, 'Don't be afraid.' But I didn't even have time to be afraid, it happened so fast. I turned to look at the light and there was pain... a little bit of pain in my head... and I don't remember much after that." Tress put her free hand to her head as she recalled the feelings she'd experienced the day she disappeared. "Just, light. Rushing, moving, burning light. Fire that burned bright, so bright. So warm. Most of the time, I felt like I was floating in a warm bath. Occasional voices, and a flash of pain, with a loud bang. Then I was in the lobby of The Millstone." 

Mrs. Callan listened to all of this, a troubled look on her face, her arms crossed. In her dark, tailored dress and her classic, pinned back hairstyle, she reminded me of a 1950s TV mother, complete with a string of pearls.

I looked up at her, and patted Tress's hand. "This must all sound pretty weird to you."

My mother-in-law sighed. "It sounds like some sort of religious experience."

That was helpful, very helpful. Mrs. Callan was a fairly devout Catholic, and had raised her daughter the same way. It would make the explanation all the easier, I hoped. "Mrs. Callan, do you believe in angels?"

"Of course," she said very matter-of-factly, like it was a dumb question.

"Do you believe people can commune with angels?"

With a nod, Mrs. Callan said, "People communed with angels in the Bible."

"That's what your daughter saw. She had... an experience... with an angel."

"Castiel?" Tress asked, then gasped in surprise. "No. The Seraph."

Now Mrs. Callan looked surprised, or rather, shocked. "A Seraph? You're telling me that my daughter communed with one of the _Seraphim?_ "

Dean and I both nodded. "When an angel walks the Earth, he or she must take a human host, a vessel. The baby that Tress is carrying is that vessel."

"So... the Seraph _possessed Paul?_ " Her face troubled and frightened, Tress rubbed her hands protectively over her stomach. "Why did it possess my baby? He hasn't even been born yet. It wouldn't hurt Paul, would it?"

I stroked the side of her face in an effort to soothe her and calm her down. "No, the Seraph wouldn't hurt his vessel. That wouldn't make sense, would it?"

"I guess not."

"If it will make you feel better, we can make an appointment with the doctor and have a sonogram. Make sure Paul looks okay."

Tress nodded.

"I'm not sure I'm following all this," Mrs. Callan said. "Why is your baby such an important vessel? Why you two?" She suddenly laughed. "I'm taking this remarkably well, aren't I?"

"Like a champ," Dean threw in.

I did what I could to explain. "It was pretty out there to us too, when we first learned it all. From what we've been told, those who are descended from Biblical folk become vessels. It's a bloodline. Paul is my son, so he's a vessel. Somehow, he became one of the strongest vessels ever known." I hoped we wouldn't have to tell her whose vessel I was supposed to be; I had nightmarish visions of my mother-in-law doing the same thing Father Calero had tried to do, and packing Tress's bags for her.

"It should be crazy to me, the idea of angels communing with unborn babies and whatnot, but what kind of Christian would I be if I didn't believe in the words of my own holy scripture?" Mrs. Callan said.

Relieved, I nodded at her. This was all so much easier if we could bypass the belief part and get right to the explanations.

"What was the Seraph doing?" Tress asked. "Why did it possess Paul?"

Dean and I shared an awkward look. How much did we say in front of Mrs. Callan? "It was building an army."

"What do you mean?"

"Mrs. Callan, I know this is going to be a bit much to take, but it's true. The Apocalypse is coming. But it's not God's will at all."

She furrowed her brow, taking a deep breath; the skeptical look on her face told me she was trying to decide whether or not to accept what I was saying.

I went on. "Some of the angels decided that they wanted Paradise on Earth, and the best way to make that happen was to force the Apocalypse to begin. It's not supposed to happen now. We're going to stop it. The Seraph will possess Paul, and his army will back him up in a battle to save the world."

Mrs. Callan started to giggle. "I'm sorry, I understand what you're saying, but it sounds like a comic book."

"We know it sounds crazy," Dean said. "We kinda specialize in crazy."

Gesturing to my brother, I added, "Dean will act as the vessel of Michael the Archangel."

Mrs. Callan laughed harder, covering her mouth. "Him? You've got to be kidding."

"Hey..." Dean protested.

"I don't mean any offense, your holiness." She snickered at her own joke. "It's just, while we were waiting for Sam to come home, you got calls from three different girls and spoke to each of them as if she was your one and only. You're a playboy." She looked him up and down. "That makes you hardly the angelic type."

Dean shrugged. "No one was more surprised to find all this out than me."

Now, Mrs. Callan looked at me and asked me the question I'd been dreading. "Whose vessel will you be?"

At that moment, Tress took my hand and simply held it, looking at me with dewy eyes filled with love. Giving me hope and strength and making me realize that my answer was not Lucifer, because I would never, ever act as his vessel. "No one's," I replied, and squeezed her hand back. "Absolutely no one's."

"This all sounds very scary and dramatic. I think... I think I need some time to take it all in. What I saw in that news report about my daughter cannot be explained by normal means, and the story you've told is anything but ordinary. Perhaps I'll be able to reconcile it all in my mind. In the meantime, I'll stay until Theresa has her examination, just to make sure the baby is alright." Mrs. Callan approached me. "I don't feel like I've properly met you. I'm your mother-in-law. You may call me Mom if you like." She stuck out her hand.

I shook it awkwardly. It would take some time for us to build up to a hug. "Okay, Mom. I'm Sam Winchester, your son-in-law."

"I apologize for not being there for the wedding. I was stubborn and foolish." She bent over, stroking Tress's hair back off her forehead. "I'm sure you made a beautiful bride." Looking at me, Mrs. Callan scoffed. "And I bet you made a very interesting groom. My Lord, you're a giant. Did you ever play basketball?"

Dean chuckled.

I shook my head. "Soccer, but no basketball."

"Bigfoots don't like playing indoors," Dean threw in.

Now Tress chuckled.

"This one's funny. Now, I suppose I should unpack my suitcase. Where can I put my things?"

"Oh, it's your choice, really. We've got a hotel room at The Millstone that Dean uses when he's not sleeping on the couch. You'd be very comfortable there." Hey, nosy mother-in-law, putting her up in a room that was out of our immediate space; it was worth a shot.

Of course, she did the stereotypical mother-in-law thing and kicked me out of my own room. "It should be just as comfortable for Dean, then, while I sleep here."

"Oh Mother, we can't ask you to sleep on the couch," Tress said.

Mrs. Callan replied, "I won't be. I'll be sleeping with you in your bed, dear." She smiled thinly at me. "Our men of chivalry here couldn't possibly expect me to sleep on the couch."

I hid my disappointment in an effort to get along with her. "Of course not, Mom. I'll, um, sleep on the couch."

Dean walked over and gave the woman a hug. She did not hug back, only stood there with her arms at her sides, a stunned look upon her face. He clapped her on the back. "I like you," Dean said.

I just rolled my eyes and went to look for the extra blankets. On my way to the closet, I heard Tress ask, "Why was I on the news?"

Jesus, it was going to be a long night.


	10. The Return

Chapter 10: The Return  
Word Count: 3,542

 

The doctor's office agreed to fit us in the next morning. Absolutely nothing on the sonogram looked abnormal. We were certainly relieved to hear it.

I watched Mrs. Callan as she looked at the sonogram; she was the picture of a loving grandmother, with a little smile on her face and pride in her eyes. She spent the next week with us, helping us pack, fussing over Tress, and lightly scolding Dean on a daily basis about straightening up and flying right. Almost every morning, she would put her hand on Tress's stomach and they would sing a hymn to the baby together, usually "Jesus Loves Me." It warmed my heart to see Tress get to spend all that quality time with her mother, especially after they had been estranged.

Mrs. Callan eventually went home, after promising to return for Paul's birth. She even spoke of moving closer to us. In some ways, oh joy, my mother-in-law living right around the corner. In other ways, it would be great for Tress and Paul, so I didn't complain or object. A large extended family wasn't something I ever had. It was definitely something I wanted for my son.

We moved into the bigger apartment shortly after, but kept the hotel room for whenever we needed it. It would make a good meeting place for hunter business. Sometime after Paul was born, we planned to get back into hunting, but only on a very part-time basis, and very local. Paul would have as much stability and normality as possible. We couldn't give it up entirely, though, knowing what was out there. Tress gave me a smile and nodded her head at the idea, but I could tell it made her nervous, us hunting again. Hunting put us in danger. She would stand there with her arms crossed, fingers rubbing nervously at her bare elbows, and tell me she understood whole-heartedly, but I could tell by the worried look in her eyes that she wished we could put all this hunting and angel business behind us forever.

We couldn't, though, not with an Apocalypse looming in the future. Who knew if, or when, Lucifer would figure out where we had gone.

Our son was born on May 23, 1973, a week early. I became the total cliché of a worried but proud father, dropping my busboy tray into the sink when I got the call, tossing aside my apron and rushing to the hospital, where I paced the waiting room until they would let me in to see my wife. Tress told me to call her mother; she hadn't been able to get a hold of her, so I did. Mrs. Callan said she would get in her car and drive out immediately in hopes she would arrive in time for the actual birth.

Things were done differently back in 1973. I did not get to be in the room with Tress while Paul was being born. Instead, Dean and I had to wait until they brought Paul up to a window in a bassinet, his little pink fist waving and mouth open in a mighty yawn. He had my dark brown hair, but his mother's eyes. Dean and I made funny faces through the glass. Paul found us terribly boring, and took a nap.

Mrs. Callan hadn't arrived yet. I wanted her to be able to see some of what she'd missed, so Dean and I took lots of pictures once Tress was back in her hospital room. They brought Paul in to nurse and for family time every few hours, and I think we nearly blinded both Tress and the baby with all the flashbulbs we went through. Both did a lot of sleeping.

At one point, when Tress and Paul were conked out together, it was very quiet in the hospital room, and I took the time to just survey my beautiful little family and give thanks for them.

Dean clapped me on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Sammy." His eyes were glistening. "You've got a gorgeous family here."

I nodded. "I was just thinking the same thing."

Even Castiel came for a visit. He hadn't been around for a couple months, always looking after angel and Apocalypse-related business. I let him hold Paul, and the baby promptly spit up on him, which was comical, given the uncomfortable look on his face afterward.

Before he left, Castiel looked down at me, sitting with Paul napping on my shoulder, and said, "Sam, tell Theresa I'm very sorry." His face showed great sorrow. There's something about how his eyelids droop when he feels bad that always gets to me. "There was nothing I could do to stop it."

I looked up. "Stop what?"

Boop, Castiel was gone.

Dean and I looked at each other, a pit of dread settling into each of our stomachs. "What did he mean by that?" I said, beginning to panic.

A few seconds later, a Massachusetts highway patrol officer walked into our room, his hat in his hands. "Are you Mr. Winchester?"

I woke Tress up, and handed Paul to his uncle. I already knew this was going to be bad.

"Ma'am, I have bad news about your mother, Patricia Callan," the highway patrolman began.

"What is it?" Tress asked, alarm creeping into her voice. "She's coming to see the baby. Is she hurt?"

The man looked almost as sorrowful as Castiel. "I regret to inform you that your mother was killed in a head-on collision on I-90 about three hours ago. I'm sorry we couldn't get to you sooner, but we had some trouble finding you."

I sat on the edge of Tress's bed and put my arm around her shoulders. She had gasped when the highway patrolman said her mother had been killed, and now she wore a perpetual look of anguish, almost betrayal. Here, she had the chance to continue to mend fences with her mom, and for her mother to see her only grandchild, and both possibilities had been torn from her on a day that should have been nothing but joyous. It was so cruel, so unfair. "We were here. We just had a baby. My mother is - she's coming to see him," Tress said. Her voice shook with impending tears. "She..." Tress put the back of her hand to her mouth.

"What happened?" I asked.

The highway patrolman said that they weren't sure, that there would be an investigation, but that the driver of the other car had swerved in front of Mrs. Callan and crashed into her. It was as simple and tragic as that. Maybe he had been drunk, maybe he had fallen asleep, they would determine that eventually. "I'm sorry for your loss, especially on such a day as this," he said, and left.

Tress had held it together that long; she now burst into tears, wailing with mournful sobs into my chest. I held her, trying to comfort her. "I'm sorry, baby," I said. "I know you wanted your mother to be a part of this so badly."

A few seconds later, Paul began to cry. Dean rocked him gently in his arms, talking to him, but the baby could not be consoled.

It hit me then: My son was a projective empath, just like Tress. His mother's grief had set him off and he wasn't even a day old. I knew as soon as I felt those raw emotions reverberating inside my head that they were coming from Paul.

It also hit me then that this is why, without me there, Paul wound up in an orphanage. His grandmother had been the last living relative of Tress's side of the family who could have taken him in if Tress died. There was nothing any of us could have done to stop Mrs. Callan's death. No one knew it was going to happen, not even Castiel.

Sometimes, I think it must be hard to be an angel. To sense deaths as they happen, and even with all that power, not be able to stop it. That helpless feeling is all part of being human.

Even for non-humans.

*****

The old saying goes that time flies when you're having fun. In a way, it does, but it also slows to a crawl, trots rhythmically like a horse, and walks at a nice, steady pace. Children sprout up like weeds, but they also seem to stay little forever. You don't realize how much your child is growing until you start looking through the photographs you've taken over time. It just seems to happen.

For a long, beautiful time, Paul remained small enough to fit on my chest, and I'd lay him there on his stomach and let him sleep. Sometimes I'd stroke his back and kiss his little head, and just look at him while we all relaxed after dinner. Those simple times were some of the best of my life. We were all so happy.

On July 28, 1973, Dean and Tress drove to New York to see Led Zeppelin in concert, just as Dean had wanted. To not only see his idols play live, but to be a part of his favorite concert film. I'm not sure I've ever seen his face light up like that. All dancing eyes and wide smile full of teeth, like someone had slipped him the strongest euphoria pill ever made. It did my heart good.

Even so, I did not pass up the chance to remind my brother that even though he was there to see Led Zeppelin in concert as many times as he wanted, he would also be there for the rise of disco.

We did the best we could to make the most of the 1970s, but it was when we realized what we had left behind that sometimes, the blues came by for a temporary sit-in. So many modern conveniences that wouldn't be invented for years... but when Dean and Tress left that night, and it was just Daddy and Paul, the 1970s became 100% worthwhile again. I could never get enough of just watching him drool all over his rattle as he sucked on it, or feeling him squeeze my finger when I offered it to him. He was my little man.

Often, the differences between how Tress and I had grown up became comical. She had no idea what a CD was. When I found one among the things in the Impala's trunk, she looked it over curiously.

"It's much smaller than a record," Tress remarked. "And where are the grooves? I don't think I see any here..."

"CDs work differently than a record."

"Oh. Can we play it?" She tried to put the CD on the turntable of her stereo.

I couldn't help it, I laughed very hard at that.

We played Dean's cassettes for her, amused at her reaction to some of the bands. To Metallica, Tress plugged her ears and scowled. "What are they so angry about?" she asked. Dean would have to enjoy them alone. Many of the classic rock bands, she liked, even the ones who wouldn't form for several more years. Dean made the mistake of playing Van Halen's "Running with the Devil" for her, which she rejected just from the title alone, and swore off Van Halen forever. Woops. Considering myself being the vessel of Lucifer had almost broken Tress and I up for good, I guess Dean should have thought that one through.

Tress was one of those women who preferred to make love to music. Led Zeppelin definitely would've been included on our lovemaking soundtrack, but Tress liked songs by Heart for that, too. When there were quiet moments... Dean was out for the night... Paul had gone to sleep, she would play "Crazy on You" and I'd practically become aroused on command. I know it's corny as heck, but Tress liked to call me her "big strong handsome man" before pulling me down on top of her, and that turned me on like nobody's business. That's how things are when you love someone, when you're married to them... little things that once seemed silly to you can take on new meaning when they say it.

As she previously pointed out to me, Tress was Catholic, and didn't believe in birth control. I thought we would have another child, hoped for it, in fact. It would be nice for Paul to have a little sister, and it would throw more water on Castiel's fire over us tempting fate. But, Tress did not get pregnant again. I don't know if the angels messed with our chemistry to make sure we wouldn't have another child, or if it was just the luck of the draw. Seemed to me that some of the angels would like it if we made another Seraph condom. It just never happened.

Castiel came around every few days to check up on my family, making sure Lucifer hadn't found us, watching over Paul, that sort of thing. One night, he caught us in the middle of making dinner, with the stereo playing some Rolling Stones. Tress, with a glass of wine in her, tried to teach him how to dance. It was comical, to say the least.

"You've got to feel the music. Move your hips to the beat," she said.

Castiel watched her shimmy back and forth for a brief time, then woodenly moved his hips from side to side a little. He was too busy concentrating to notice Dean and I snickering at him.

"Oh come on, you can't be feeling this song if you're moving like that!" Tress exaggerated her movements as a demonstration of how crazy Cas should be going in reaction to the song, gyrating her arms and whipping her head around.

Cas stared at her, looking quite bewildered. How many times had we seen those eyebrows furrowed like that? Dean and I were having a hard time not laughing out loud.

When he didn't react, Tress bumped his hip pretty hard with her own. "Get with it, Cas!" she cried, and danced toward me with a playful look in her eyes.

That was something Castiel seemed to understand. He followed her across the room and bumped her in the backside, hard enough to knock her over. If I hadn't been there to catch her, she would have gone face first into Paul's playpen.

Paul, being in the playpen, began to giggle.

We all laughed. Tress looked back at Castiel, who didn't seem to understand what was so funny. "That's good, Cas, but you want to hold back a little," she said.

"Yeah Cas, this isn't a mosh pit," Dean added.

Now Tress looked confused. "Mosh pit?"

*****

At first, the doctor wanted Tress to have an EEG every three months. If anything strange was detected, he would order a PEG. It frustrated me that CAT scans and MRIs weren't readily available; I didn't have any way of knowing if they had even been invented yet. If they had, they weren't in wide use. One thing I did remember from science class is that they were much better diagnostic tools than what we had to work with in this time period. I also knew that eventually, when the brain tumor did not return, the doctor would stop ordering the tests. The looming threat of 1978 would make me crazy, knowing that. But I tried to put it out of my mind for the time being. We would figure something out when the time came. As things were, the tumor had not returned.

Something else, though, did return.

Paul would turn six months old on November 23, 1973. Don't think that we weren't afraid something would happen on that night, with our family's track record. But, would it be a demon... or would the Seraph come back?

Dean and I prepared as best we could. We drew Devil's Traps on tarps and laid them out in every bedroom, near the entrances (drawing on the rug would result in too many breaks in the traps, what with carpeting being the way it is; besides, doing that would ensure we'd never get our cleaning deposit back). We made a couple of those holy oil Molotov cocktails in case the Seraph came and needed to be sent back to Heaven in a hurry. There was no way we could know who would come, if they would come, or what would happen.

The only thing we could do was wait.

Tress had a hard time getting to sleep, but I encouraged her to do so, as she just might get in our way otherwise. I didn't say it like that to her, but it was true - she wasn't a hunter, and never would be. Dean and I stayed awake and watched over Tress and Paul while they slept; the fact that we were currently keeping Paul's crib in the bedroom with us certainly helped.

It was the Seraph who came that night.

One second, Dean and I were alone with our sleeping charges. The next, there was a woman in the room, one with dark hair. I instantly felt almost fixed to the floor. My feet moved sluggishly and my head filled with this overwhelming buzzing sound. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but wasn't exactly pleasurable, either. The alternating feelings moved in waves. I could see that Dean was moving slowly as well; he looked like he was in a trance. Being in the presence of this angel proved to be quite a different experience than our previous interactions.

The Seraph looked at me with eyes that were no longer there, just eye sockets with ice blue light within them. The woman's skin glowed, and I could feel warmth coming off her, strong warmth. "Do not interfere," the Seraph said. It's voice was so alien and so human at the same time, I'm not sure I could ever describe it. Musical, but it also bore into my brain. This being was virtual poetry and certain, horrific death at the same time. "There is little time, and I must prepare my vessel," it finished, and moved toward Paul's crib.

I sluggishly raised my hand in protest. "Please... don't hurt... my baby..." I forced out.

In a tone that sounded almost offended, the Seraph replied, "I would never hurt my vessel," and went to the side of the crib.

Dean tried to light the rag hanging out of one of the Molotov cocktails, but he could hardly move. "What... are you... going... to do?" he asked.

The Seraph put a hand to its eye and brushed away a large drop of ice blue liquid. This, it brought to Paul's lips. He kicked his little legs and accepted the liquid like it was nourishing mother's milk, sucking the Seraph's finger greedily.

"What is that?" I said. The heat coming off the Seraph was growing at a rapid rate, and it began to be too hot to stand. Sweat broke out on my forehead. "What did you... feed him? Your grace?"

"No." The Seraph turned to me, and already the body it was in was catching fire, burning from the inside out. "My tears," it said, and the woman it had used for a vessel turned to ash in a flash of holy fire. The ashes fell into a pile next to Paul's crib.

Suddenly, Dean and I could move again. It was so abrupt that we both almost lost our footing and fell down. I wondered how the man in Houston had ever been able to shoot Tress when the Seraph had such power. I went straight to the crib and scooped Paul up, holding him close out of fear. We had been so helpless; the Seraph could have done whatever it wanted.

Tress sat up on her elbow. "What's going on?"

It amazed me that she could have slept through that whole thing, but then again, the Seraph probably arranged it. I told her what had happened, and she jumped out of bed to check Paul over, to make sure he was okay. But it was as the angel said - it hadn't come there to hurt Paul, only to prepare him.

Dean gingerly touched the ashes with the toe of his shoe. "I guess the Seraph used the most convenient vessel it could find, for as long as it would hold out." He wrinkled his nose at the smell of burned hair. "Poor woman."

It was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had, the visit from the Seraph. I'm not sure I could adequately describe what it was like to be in its presence. Like the whole room was filled with molasses and we were trying to move through it.

Two months later, we rented a three-bedroom house and moved in. It would be our home until the Seraph came again.


	11. Turn the Page

Chapter 11: Turn the Page  
Word Count: 3,865

 

As it is with all families, we lived, we loved, we fought, we watched time pass, and we built a thousand beautiful memories as the years wore on toward 1978. It was a looming threat for a while, but that eventually changed. I made sure Tress kept up with her appointments, her check-ups, which became less and less as the years passed. The doctor sometimes furrowed his brow at me for insisting that we keep looking for another brain tumor even after Tress had been cancer free for years, but he didn't know what I knew, and I could never explain it to him.

Sometime after we moved into the house, Dean and I started hunting again. We had done it for so many years that it was a part of us, something that came as natural as breathing and loving one another. With our jobs and family, we couldn't take off as much as we used to, but we were always scouring the paper for strange deaths, and when one would come up in the area, we'd spend a couple days looking into it. Just Dean and me, in the Impala, driving an hour out of town or so, music playing on the stereo and my arm out the window, feeling the breeze whisk by... as it had always been. Castiel would often show up and help, or stay behind and watch over Paul and Tress. She didn't like it when we came home hurt, but Tress understood why we had to do it, and she'd fuss over our injuries and kiss my "booboos" every time.

Once, though, we had a big fight about it. Something got Tress in a bad humor and she suddenly became afraid the prophecy of 1978 would come true. "What if I do get cancer again and I die? What would happen to Paul then if one of these evil beings killed you on a hunt? Maybe you shouldn't go."

It took a good hour of more arguing, but I finally convinced her that these awful things were not going to happen, that Paul would never be left alone. So far, I've been able to keep that promise - Paul is not alone. I am not a prophet, though. After a while, I became convinced that my and Dean's presence had somehow changed fate.

I mentioned before that music was an important part of our relationship. I neglected to talk about Journey, and "Faithfully." There were Journey tapes from the 1980s that we'd brought back with us, the ones with Steve Perry on vocals, and I think they were Tress's favorite of the music we introduced her to, next to Heart. Besides the usual songs featuring Perry's crazy vocal range that made women swoon, Tress loved "Faithfully," so much that I would say she cherished the tune.

She said it was about us.

I could see that, upon rereading the lyrics. Except that the man in the song spent a lot more time on the road than I did in those days. When I brought that up to her, Tress frowned at me a little and looked out the window, falling silent. I tried to draw her out, and it took a while, but she finally explained her feelings to me.

I love my family. Nothing will ever change that. I will do whatever is needed to take care of them. If that means working a job, making a home for them, and spending the bulk of my time with them, then that's what I will do. But Tress is right. There is a part of me that will always be on the road. No matter how much I want to pretend that I can escape the hunting life completely, deep down I know I can't.

I grew up on the road.

"I know that you love me and Paul, so don't think I'm saying that you don't," Tress had said that night. "But there's always going to be... a little distance there. You'll always be a little distant and distracted because a part of you is used to being out there, all the time. You and your brother. Some nights, you two sit out on the porch drinking beer and just stare into the distance. Sometimes, you tell each other stories from your past. I can see it in your eyes, how you're examining the night, listening to every sound. Looking for omens. Waiting for things to turn ominous. And then, it doesn't happen, and I call you in for bed because you've lost track of time." Her eyes were a little sad when she spoke these words. "Most nights, I stay in here and do my own thing because I... I don't know, I just... I feel out of place with you two on the porch. I could never understand."

At the time, I had hugged Tress and tried to reassure her that she had no reason to feel awkward about sitting on the porch with us, but I knew there was more to it than that, and I knew the distance really was there and always would be. Two people can love each other with all their hearts, but it doesn't mean they can share every last feeling or experience with each other. It doesn't even mean that they should.

Tress reassured me that she knew that by again explaining why the song was important to her. "It's alright, Sam," she said, stroking my back. "It's like Journey says in that song. You may occasionally go off on hunting trips for real, and sometimes only in your mind, but you always come back to me." She wrapped her arms around my chest. "You're forever mine, faithfully."

I knew it was all true as soon as Tress brought it up. Jess had said something almost exactly like it about six months into our relationship. The distance was there then too, except Jess never knew why. I think I'll always wish that I could have told her the truth before she was killed. As the first woman I ever loved, I owed her that.

*****

Paul grew from a tiny, pudgy baby lying on my chest to an energetic little boy who loved to cuddle up to his parents or uncle and be read a storybook every night. "Do all the voices!" he would demand. Dean was the best at it. He somehow made the voice of each character sound different. Paul would clap his little hands and say, "Read it again!" until we had to cut him off, or he'd never get to sleep. Of course, Dean always got suckered into reading stories the most times out of all of us. He still does.

Paul's first word was "Dada." His second was "Cookie."

Oh, he loves cookies. Virtual cookie fiend, that one. From the time he could cram a pudgy fist full of cookie into his mouth and drool all over it until it became soft enough to gum into pieces he could swallow, 'til now, when he has enough teeth to bite an Oreo in half, he has loved cookies. I remember once when he was three, we all went to the grocery store, and Paul rode in the cart with his stuffed bunny Booboo (Booboo Bunny, as he was commonly known, because he always kissed Paul's booboos right after Mommy or Daddy or Uncle Dean). Suddenly, I heard Paul's little voice singing a song about something he wanted us to buy.

"Please buy cookies. Cookies, cookies, cookies!" he sang. A song he made up on the spot. And holy crap, are kids tenacious. Paul's lungs never seem to give out when he makes up one of these "please buy me this" songs. As if to demonstrate, he sang the tune halfway across the store. "Please buy cookies. Cookies, cookies, cookies!"

"Paul, that's enough," Tress chided. "We get the picture."

He stopped for a full minute. Then started up again, tentatively. "Please buy cookies. Cookies, cookies, cookies!"

By the time we got to the cookie and cracker aisle, Dean had joined in. "Please buy cookies. Cookies, cookies, cookies!"

"Don't encourage the child," I said.

"Oreos, please," Dean replied.

It never fails to make my heart soar with love and fondness while I watch Dean interact with his nephew. He loves that kid so much, almost as much as I do. He'd do anything for Paul, sacrifice anything, become anything. Because Dean is his uncle and not his father, he also lets Paul get away with murder and often acts as his partner in mischief. Sometimes I think Tress got madder at Dean than she did at Paul when she found another art project on the wall that Dean had obviously helped with, being that the little crayon people had word balloons coming out of their mouths with phrases like, "Hiya, turdface!" and "Make me some pancakes, sweetheart!" Paul is still learning to read; he certainly can't write stuff like that, even if Dean says it to him. I watch Dean give my son another piggie-back ride or spin him around by his arms until he's ready to throw up, and all Paul has to do is cry, "Again!" and Dean's back up, spinning him in another dizzying circle, and I know that Paul will never want for love, even if I am killed on a hunt. Paul will always have family. He will never be that lonely little boy who grew up in an orphanage.

And although Castiel has different ways of showing it, I know he loves Paul too. There didn't seem to be much actual danger from demons and angels back then, save for the visits from the Seraph, but Cas still came around on a regular basis to check up on us and make sure we were safe. He often watches Paul play with a tiny smile on his face, and strokes Paul's hair when he runs by. Paul will even cry, "Castiel!" when he sees him, and run at him for a big hug, like he does with everyone he's excited to see. Cas kneels down and opens his arms to receive him, then takes his little hand and allows Paul to lead him wherever he wants to go.

"Look at the picture I drew!" Paul says.

Castiel always regards it with interest. "It's very nice, Paul." He even says that when Paul has drawn him, a mere scribble of what could be a man in a trench coat, but may also be a giraffe.

My son is adorable. The cutest child ever. Even when he tries to help Mommy make scrambled eggs and salts them enough for twenty people. He was learning his ABCs at the time and spelled them out with the salt... twice. Dean won the Olympic sprint to the sink for more water after we all took our first bite. Being the indulgent parent that I am, I just grabbed Paul up and tickled him 'til he kicked his legs and screamed laughter, nearly peeing his pants.

Winters are fun. Dean and I had traveled through many cities as children where it snowed all winter, and even got to have a little fun in these places sometimes, but now we had months and months of snow in which to play. We also got to see it through Paul's eyes. The absolute wonder on his face as he looked over a whole front yard of undisturbed snow, it's white glow reflected in his eyes... what a magical thing to watch. Dean would take his mittened hand and tell him he could be first to walk through it, with his uncle at his side. When they reached the opposite end of the yard, they would lie down and make "Snow Castiels."

Each year, Dean would get Paul and they'd make a fort out of snow, then stockpile their weapons and wait for Daddy to come home so they could ambush me. I would pretend I didn't see them until the barrage of slushy cold balls started hitting my face. Then it was on! Many times, Tress would come outside to call us all to dinner, and we'd be wet and cold but laughing our heads off. It wasn't winter until we had our first snowball fight, and I had the pleasure of stuffing one down Tress's shirt, just to hear her scream laughter. Paul would usually lose a mitten and we'd be out there past dark looking for it. There was always a hot dinner waiting for us inside, where our wet clothes could dry off by the fire.

Sounds like a Norman Rockwell painting. It was something we thought we'd never have.

Of course, the most fun was when Castiel would show up. You'd think after a couple years of us sneaking up on him and pulverizing him with snowballs that he'd stop looking confused about why we were doing it, but no such luck. The first few times it happened, he would just stand there like a flagpole and be hit with one wet, exploding projectile after another, looking around at us, perplexed.

"What was that?" he would ask.

"We just had a snowball fight," I would reply.

"Did I win?"

Eventually, Cas attempted to join in. While Dean ran around him, laughing, Castiel bent over and began to collect snow to make into a ball. The only problem was, he didn't know when to stop.

Dean paused to look at the misshapen, oversized lump in Castiel's hands. "And just what are you going to do with that thing?"

With renewed confidence, Castiel said, "I'm going to throw it at you."

"Fuck no, you're not throwing that mutant snowball at me."

The funniest thing was that Cas didn't listen, and tried to lob the heavy glob of snow and ice at Dean's chest. It made contact but rolled down Dean's coat, landing with a plop on his shoe. The snowball practically buried his foot, even, it was that big.

Dean and Cas looked at each other for a moment, Dean with that exasperated stare he seems to use most on me and the angel. Then Castiel said, "I enjoyed that," in his usual deadpan tone.

Dean just nodded. "I bet you did."

And of course, there had to be a snowman. Paul often asked Castiel if we could borrow his coat for it.

"Why?" Cas asked the first time.

"So it looks more like a person," Paul said. "And he's cold."

"He's a snowman, he's supposed to be cold," Dean pointed out.

This didn't satisfy Paul; he still looked up at Cas with pleading eyes.

Cas took off his trench coat and handed it to Dean. "Sure, you can use it."

By the time we had the coat buttoned around the snowman, Castiel already had another trench coat on. "How did you do that?" I asked.

Cas just shrugged. It's an angel thing.

When spring would come, we'd prepare for Daddy and Paul's birthdays, which weren't that far apart. It was then that I discovered, to my great dismay, that my son loves clowns. Oh, this was just wonderful. I hate clowns. In fact, I'm terrified of them. Maybe it's the fake, painted smiles, or the big red noses... or maybe it has something to do with the creepy animatronic clown dolls at Plucky Pennywhistle's, I don't know. Just wait until Paul sees _Poltergeist_ ; that may change his mind.

Anyway, as soon as my son saw the inside of Plucky's, he was screaming to have his birthday party there. Oh joy. But I'm his father, and I have to be brave for my little man. Cake, had a clown on it. With balloons. Balloons, had clowns on them too. Plucky's had a clown come over to entertain Paul and his guests. Even the wrapping paper on Paul's gift from us had clowns on it. Clowns, clowns, everywhere. These are the sacrifices you have to make for your child.

I just tried to ignore them, and watched Paul play in the ball pit. Dean and I ran around outside the pit while Paul pretended to shoot us and we pretended to be shot, grabbing our chests and falling down while he laughed and laughed at us. Michelle's kids got in on the act; Dean and I spent most of the afternoon being shot with finger guns and daring the kids to throw plastic balls at our faces (which were safe on the other side of a net wall, except when Michelle's youngest got me in the nose). By the end of the day, we were almost too tired to walk, but Paul was the one who got carried home.

That happened on our annual trips to the state fair as well. The Big East, they call it. We'd drive to West Springfield and get a hotel for the weekend, and have the time of our lives. It may have been just as fun to watch the wonder of discovery in Castiel's eyes as it was to see it in Paul's. The colorful lights, the sound of the midway, the nightly Mardi Gras parade... I couldn't carry Cas on my shoulders like I did my son, but he still saw plenty to make him curious.

I remember standing there on the midway with streams of people moving around us, Paul in his mother's arms, perched on her hip, and watching Cas as he listened to the abundance of noise around him. People screaming on the roller coaster, carnival barkers calling out to passerbys to try to bring them in to play their games, the dings and beeps of the racing game next to us, and scores of people laughing and talking and taking pictures with their old-fashioned cameras (at least, they were old-fashioned to us).

He looked at me. "Why do they ride the roller coaster if it makes them scream?"

"'Cause it's scary," Dean replied. "In a fun way."

I nodded.

"May I try it?"

Maybe Paul was a little young for the roller coaster yet; he spent the entire ride with his face hidden in his mother's side, but Cas seemed to be able to handle it. Tress, Paul, and I were in the car behind Dean and Cas. I spent the entire ride screaming in glee, rubbing Paul's arm, and laughing at Castiel's reactions. Good times.

On the way down the first hill, Dean raised his arms and hooted and hollered in delight, which made Cas look at him sharply. He yelled to be heard over the other screaming coaster riders. "This feeling of having your stomach in your throat is fun?"

"Yeah!" Dean called back. "Weeeee!"

When we careened down the second hill, Cas looked at Dean and said, "Wee?" And he deadpanned it.

Tress and I laughed ourselves silly.

"Very good, Cas!" Dean replied, and added, "Weeeeee."

Walking out of the roller coaster pavilon, Cas saw that Paul was rubbing his eyes (the ride made him cry) and took his little hand. "I didn't like it much either, Paul," he said, and walked him toward the cotton candy stand.

The cotton candy made Paul forget how scary he'd found the roller coaster. Soft, sticky, pink filaments made of pure sugar will do that. We got a blue one for Cas. He tried to pull some off the cardboard tube, but came away with a glob bigger than his hand. "It all sticks together," he remarked.

Dean helped him get a more manageable piece, and he ate it, considering it thoughtfully. "It melts on my tongue before I can really chew it," Cas said. He licked his lips. "Is it supposed to do that?"

He deemed cotton candy "very interesting." I don't know why Cas ate anything during our visits to the fair; he didn't need food. Maybe it was curiosity, a desire to experience what it was like to be human.

Paul just gobbled up the cotton candy, then licked the sugar off his fingers. My son, the sweets freak.

That was nothing compared to Cas on the bumper cars. Tress and Paul got their own car, Dean got his, and I got mine... and then there was Castiel in a car by himself as well. At first, he couldn't figure out how to operate it, and Dean kept deliberately crashing into him with a gleeful snicker.

"Just trying to get him going," he declared.

Brow furrowed, Cas glared back at Dean. "I don't think you should bump into me on purpose. In fact, none of these people should be doing that." He indicated the other drivers with a sweep of his arm. "Someone could get hurt."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Cas, if we didn't hit each other on purpose, then they wouldn't be bumper cars. They'd be Avoiding Shit cars."

"Oh."

Second time around, we showed Castiel how to use his bumper car, and he had a lot more fun with it, going after Dean and bumping his car with enthusiasm. But, he didn't fully understand that part of the point of bumper cars is to surprise your target.

"I'm about to hit your car, Sam," he announced, and bumped me.

"Thanks for the warning, Cas."

When he went after Dean, it turned into an episode of Innuendo Theatre. "Dean, I am coming up behind you, about to ram your rear end."

Tress skidded to one side in her car and looked back, her mouth open in a big, surprised O.

You could just hear Dean doing a slow burn in the tone of his voice. "Don't say stuff like that, Cas. You're not supposed to tell me you're about to hit my car. Especially not - "

"Look out for me, Dean. I am coming up your rear."

"Cas!" His face turned red.

Tress doubled over with loud giggles; she laughed so hard she snorted. I couldn't help but laugh too.

Paul looked from one adult to the other. "What's so funny, Mommy?"

To this day, I still don't know if Cas was aware of the implied meaning behind what he was saying. It's not like I'm going to ask him.

At the end of the day, we were all so tired, but it was the best kind of tired. Not Castiel though; angels don't get worn out, not from two corn dogs, cotton candy, and a funnel cake, anyway. While Tress carried the stuffed animals we won for Paul (and her - I had to win a big blue hound dog for my lady), I carried a sleeping Paul out of the fair, his head conked out on my shoulder.

We did this every year. They were always some of the finest days of my life.


	12. Alternate Realities

Chapter 12: Alternate Realities  
Word Count: 6,518

 

Our days weren't always perfect, though. Like any marriage, we had our arguments and insecurities. I remember one particular incident where Castiel put his foot in his mouth and only made things worse, but in the end, they worked out much better. Most people didn't say much about it. Michelle, on the other hand, once looked at my brother walking across the hotel lobby and asked me if I ever became jealous, what with Dean living with us and all.

"Do you ever worry about him and Theresa... you know..." she said, and wiggled her eyebrows.

"How can you ask me a thing like that?" I replied. I tried to keep my tone light, but secretly, I wanted to give her a good swift kick in the shin for even bringing it up.

"I'm sorry, it's just that..." Michelle tilted her head, getting herself a better look at Dean's ass. "...he's so good looking. If I had a sister that looked like that, and she was living with me and my hubby..." She straightened up, noticing the bothered look on my face. "Not that you're ugly or anything."

It's been a lifelong insecurity of mine, that I'm not as handsome as my brother, and that he could take any woman I loved if he really wanted to. I gave Michelle a tight-lipped, irritated look. "Thanks so much, Michelle. That's good to hear."

She put her head down and scurried away, embarrassed.

The conversation put a seed in my head that sprouted well after I got home from work. Dean and Tress were in the kitchen putting dinner together, listening to Led Zeppelin. When "Rock n' Roll" came on, Tress began bouncing back and forth across the kitchen, dancing with a then four-year-old Paul while Dean drummed out the beat with his hands on the counter. It wasn't my turn to help with dinner, but I instantly wanted to run in and volunteer when I saw Tress feed Dean a slice of carrot on her way by him.

Castiel was next to me on the couch, studying the evening news. "Boy, they sure are acting close," I remarked, my voice cynical and hurt.

With an unknowing smile, Cas said, "Why do you think we sent you back first?"

I turned and glared at him. "What?"

His gentle smile faltered a bit. He was picking up on how I was feeling. "Well, it's just that... we had to send you back alone before we could bring Dean into it because..."

I finished for him. "If Dean had come back with me, Tress might've fallen in love with him instead?"

"Ah... well, yes, there was that possibility."

What a lovely thing to contemplate, your wife falling in love with your brother instead of you. "So, what, Dean and I are interchangeable? The only reason Tress fell in love with me is because I was here first?"

"It's not that, Sam, it's just... well, what with the other universes, it was something we had to consider."

He wasn't making this any better. "What do you mean by that?"

I could see him wanting to shrivel down into the couch and escape. Don't know why he didn't just disappear. "I've spoken of these other universes before..."

"Uh huh."

"Well... in no other universe are you and Theresa together."

"But...?"

Cas swallowed hard. I could almost hear the _gulp_. "She and Dean were a couple in at least three universes."

Oh yeah, exactly the worst thing I could have heard that night. "Grand."

"I think it had something to do with him being Michael's vessel."

"Well, I can see why you'd think that. She did have this hero worship thing going for him when he first got here."

Cas seemed to take that as a sign that we were having an actual conversation about this, like it wasn't painful for me to hear. He's not real up on the intricacies of romantic relationships, being a celestial ball of light and all. "They were never married in any of these universes - "

"So, just lived in sin together, huh?"

" - but they did have a child in one."

I scoffed bitterly. "Paul was his kid in another universe?"

"No, it was a girl."

For some reason, that bothered me just as much. Probably because Tress and I had tried for a girl several times and never been successful. "How nice for them."

Cas didn't know when to stop; he went right on blathering. "Because she is the child of Michael's vessel and Theresa Callan, she is a countervessel. A vessel that can contain the oldest orders of the dwellers of the lower plain." As if we were casually discussing a case, Castiel folded his hands around his knee and leaned back, thinking about what happened in that parallel universe. "Her battle with Lucifer cracked the Earth literally in two. Civilization is a wasteland in that world."

"You don't say?"

"Then there's the universe where you accepted Lucifer into your body and stalked Theresa until she firmly rejected you. You attacked her and strangled her to death," Cas informed me.

It was probably his densest moment ever. "Lovely," I mumbled.

"And there was another universe where you were dating Theresa, but you caught her and Dean in bed together and, after accepting Lucifer, chased them down and killed them both - "

I was dimly aware that Dean had come into the room a moment before; he caught this last part of what Cas had been saying and promptly smacked him in the back of the head. "God, Cas, what the hell are you talking about?"

Castiel looked up at him, a little bothered. "Why did you do that?"

Dean, seeing the hurt look on my face, sniffed and acted cocky. "That's what you're supposed to do when someone says something really stupid."

I dropped it at the time, not wanting to talk about all the horrible possibilities Cas had brought up. My jealousy reared its ugly head sometime after dinner, though.

Once Paul had gone to bed, Tress suggested that we play a board game. I wasn't in the right humor for it, but I couldn't tell her why, so I just agreed to play too. Even Cas stayed to play. This was usually a laugh riot, as Castiel would overquestion the rules and point of the game until Dean wanted to smack him, but after the day I'd had...

During our game play, Dean announced that he knew who had killed Mr. Boddy. "Colonel Mustard did it with the hot dog in the Bun Warming Room!"

"Dean!" Tress sat back and shook her head with a roll of her eyes. "You're just holding up the game with stupid jokes like that."

Castiel jumped on his chance. He smacked Dean in the back of the head so hard that his face hit the table.

We all yelped in surprise. The board game pieces danced across the table. Dean brought his head back up and rubbed his nose. Unable to help it, Tress began to giggle.

"You told me that when someone said something stupid, you were supposed to hit them in the back of the head," Castiel said in his defense.

That made Tress laugh harder. "Well, you told him, Dean."

Dean grinned at her thinly. "You think that's funny, do you?"

"I sure do," she said from behind her hand.

Dean let a beat of time go by before pouncing on her, tickling her sides. "That's funny, huh? You think that's funny?"

She squirmed in her seat, nearly squealing with laughter. That was supposed to be _our_ thing. It sent me over the edge. "Just flaunt it in front of my face, why don't you?!" I cried, and stormed off into the bedroom.

I could hear them talking in the other room, their voices full of confusion, and then Tress came in and closed the door behind her. "Sam, what's the matter? What's going on?"

I opened my mouth to let the accusations fly, but realized I had no accusations to make. They hadn't done anything, not really. "I... I don't know. God! I just got jealous, watching you and Dean together."

"That's not like you, Sam." Tress sat next to me on the edge of the bed. She ran her fingers through the hair at my temples. "Is this because of what Castiel told you?"

"About the parallel universes where you and Dean got it on? Yeah, it would have something to do with that," I said, and let out a small, bitter laugh.

"Oh, Sam..." Tress swung her leg over me, straddling my waist with her thighs. The way that woman could seduce me... the way she could make it all better. "I'm not attracted to Dean. He's not my type at all. He's like a brother to me. Why would I want him when I have a strong..." She kissed me. "...handsome..." She kissed me again. "...sensitive guy that I love who never fails to turn me on?" Tress kissed me a third time, a long, passionate kiss. I was responding to her words and the feeling of her body against mine. "Do you see this ring?" She pointed to her wedding ring. "This ring means everything to me, and I take its vows very seriously. I would never cheat on you with Dean or anyone. Especially not Dean!" Putting her arms around my neck, Tress added, "Those parallel Theresas are idiots."

I had to laugh. We kissed again. "Mrs. Winchester, I think you're trying to seduce me so I'll stop being mad at your alternate selves."

"Yeah. So sit back and enjoy it." To that, Tress shoved me onto my back and laid on top of me. I chuckled in reaction. She kissed me several times while unbuttoning my shirt and rubbing my chest.

"Who calls me Tress?" she asked.

"I do."

"Does Dean ever call me Tress?"

We'd never discussed this before, but it was true. Dean and Cas always called her Theresa. "No, he doesn't."

"Do you know why?"

I thought I did. "Because he knows that's my special nickname for you."

She leaned over me, her soft hair tickling my face, and looked me straight in the eye. "He knows I'm yours, and he respects that, so he leaves your name for me alone. That's something only for me and you. Because I'm your wife." Kissing the hollow of my throat, Tress jokingly added, "The only man I'd ever leave you for is Robert Plant."

I don't want anyone reading this memoir to think that I'm trying to be a macho braggart with what I'm going to say next. I just want you to understand Tress's devotion to me. The next thing she did was open my pants and go down on me for as long as I could hold out. It wasn't something she enjoyed doing much; some women don't like it. But Tress did it for me. In fact, she once told me that it really turned her on to give me head because I liked it, and she loved me.

Alternate Tresses, forgiven.

*****

The next morning, Dean met me in the kitchen with an embarrassed look about his eyes. "Mornin', Sammy." He showed me that he was making waffles. "You like waffles."

I smiled back at the little grin he gave me. "Yeah, sounds great." I poured myself a cup of coffee and sat at the little round table in what we considered "the breakfast nook."

"Sammy..." he began, and launched into what he'd been wanting to say since the night before. "...you know I would never - "

I interrupted him almost immediately. "Dean, you don't have to apologize. I'm the one who should say he's sorry. I acted like a jealous jerk and none of it was your fault."

Dean still had that sheepish look on his face. He kind of shrugged. "She's your wife. I wouldn't - "

"I know, I know, Dean." I tried to wave it away. "It wasn't you, it was me. It's over now."

We locked eyes for a few seconds, and then he smiled. "Okay," Dean said. He went back to making the waffles.

It was one of those moments where nothing further needed to be said; we had said it all with that look. Sometimes that happens with someone you've known your whole life. I did, however, take the time to wonder why the alternate Deans went there with the woman I love. Did they just not know how I felt about her? Could they not help themselves, or had something happened in their lives to make things different between the alternate versions of Dean and myself? The Dean I knew might flirt harmlessly with the woman I loved, but he would never come between she and I in the manner Castiel had described. Whatever had caused our relationship to be different, I was glad that it hadn't happened here. I don't like the thought of not having my version of Dean in my life again.

We're a package deal.

*****

Speaking of package deals, part of loving my brother involves dealing with the women he brings home, or as I would sometimes say, putting up with them. Maybe I'm being unkind. Some of them have been nice women, but they're always a bit flighty. A few have been too clingy. Dean always keeps things loose. I'm not sure why; we're not going anywhere. If I have a wife, there's no reason Dean can't have a serious relationship as well. I guess it's some sort of emotional thing.

Over time, he has developed a semi-serious relationship with one woman. It took years for the two of them to even meet, and another year for Dean to stop seeing the other women in his life and make himself exclusive to her. That wasn't all his idea, either. Her name is Moira. Moira Steckle, if you can believe such a name exists. While it first made me picture a librarian with cat's eye glasses, I eventually got used to what the owner of that name actually looked like. She's very pretty, but unusual when compared to the women Dean usually dated.

First off, the best way to describe how she dresses is "hippie." I've never seen my brother with a woman in bell-bottom jeans or long flowing gypsy skirts, fringed vests, and tie-dye crop tops. Moira keeps her brown hair long and straight and often makes crowns out of flowers from her garden that she not only puts on her own head, but anyone else's, anyone else she can catch, that is. There's something mischievous about her facial features; she always looks like she's about to get up to something if she doesn't already have something going. I'm not sure I've ever heard another person use the phrase "Far out!" as much as she does, which is pretty amazing considering everything in the '70s is "far out" to everyone.

Tress didn't like her at first. I can understand why, what with Moira being against marriage because it's just "another way the man enslaves us." Moira hates to wear shoes, goes around in public without a bra, and attends anti-war protests where she sometimes gets arrested. There's also the fact that Tress accidentally walked in on Dean and Moira in the middle of sex once early in their relationship, which isn't hard to do when you do it on the washer during the spin cycle. Is it too much information to say that my brother has a sex drive the size of a tank? Moira keeps up just fine. Even I have arrived home to find the windows of the Impala steamed up and the chassis rockin'. "He's an animal," she once said, and growled at him before nipping at his ear. Dean chuckled like he was embarrassed, but I could tell he secretly loved it.

One night, after too many mimosas, Moira told us that she had been on several "groupie expeditions" and may have fooled around with a member of the Rolling Stones, although when Dean asked for details, all she would do is giggle and wag a finger at him. Tress definitely didn't like that.

But being a little on the "immoral" side isn't all that Moira's about. She was never shy about sitting outside and enjoying the evening. In fact, Moira was the one who successfully got Tress out on the porch with us.

She plays a little acoustic guitar. It was the second night that Moira had pulled it out that she started playing "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore." Tress had great memories of singing that song around a campfire at Christian Bible camp when she was a child. She stood in the doorway, still too anxious to get comfortable on the porch, and sang along with the lyrics in a small, quiet voice as Dean and I butchered all the words.

Moira abruptly stopped and turned to my wife. "Can you believe these two dopes don't know this song, Terry?"

Tress jumped a little; no one here called her Terry. Everyone who had was either dead or left behind in her hometown. "It's, um... a bit of a surprise, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I mean, did you hear what my man said just now?" Moira played a few bars, imitating Dean by singing in a deep, dopey voice, "'Milk and Pepsi on the other side, hallelujah...'" We all chuckled. "Come 'ere." She patted the empty chair to her left. "Let's teach them how to sing it right."

"Oh, I can't sing..." Tress looked down at her feet and crossed her arms, embarrassed at the whole idea.

Paul came to the door. He was eating a before-bed snack of bread with peanut butter on it. "I wanna hear you sing, Mommy," he said, tugging on her pants leg just above her knee.

She couldn't resist the kid. "Okay, we'll sing one song, and then bed." Looking around at us all, Tress sat down in the rocking chair and pulled Paul up into her lap. It was obvious she felt out of her element; the discomfort was written all over her body.

"Yeah, you sing too, Paulie," Moira said. No one had called him Paulie before this either, but out of Moira's mouth, it somehow worked. I guess it was because these sorts of nicknames seemed natural coming from her.

She started "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore" again, and this time, Tress and Moira sang it with Dean and I singing the words that we knew and humming the ones that we didn't. By about halfway through the song, Tress had fully relaxed and was rocking Paul back and forth to the rhythm as he smacked away on his snack. Our son joined in on the choruses and other parts that he knew, although his voice was heavy with peanut butter. When the song was done, we all clapped, and Paul smacked one last time before asking, "Mommy, can I have a glass'a milk?"

I wasn't sure Tress would come back out on the porch after putting Paul to bed. But she did, and I had to smile when she said to Moira, "Do you know 'Children of the Lord'?"

Moira wrinkled her nose, laughing. "That song with the whole 'arky, arky' bit?"

Tress nodded.

"I know the melody, but you'll have to fill in some of the words."

Tress shook off the last of her apprehension. "That I can do."

"Far oooout."

When we were done, we all agreed that was a song we needed to teach Paul. It was loads of fun to sing, even if it was one of Ned Flanders' favorites.

One thing we didn't talk about on the porch when Moira was over was the hunting. You may think that was unfair, that Dean was in a long term relationship with a woman and he didn't even feel he could share such a big part of his life with her, but there were reasons. Moira didn't know for a long time. The reason for it was simply that Dean had his secrets, and Moira did too. There were certain parts of their lives that they just didn't share with one another because it was "better not to know."

I've only been to Moira's house a couple of times. I didn't think it was a good idea to go back more than that. She told Dean she made her money by selling things made from the herbs and flowers and such in her garden out of a little cart in downtown Boston. That much was true, but it wasn't all. For one thing, the house seemed too substantial for someone living off a small, independently-owned business. Maybe it belonged to a family member or had been inherited. Moira did have a cranky old grandmother living with her. But there were other things that seemed odd.

Such as, five dogs guarded the property, five big dogs that had to be told to stand down with a code word when we arrived. Well, maybe Moira and her grandmother were just concerned about their safety. Dean's never been crazy about dogs to begin with, but it was an extra special surprise when he stepped out of his car that first time and a black and brown doberman greeted him with a threatening growl. We both froze.

"Cochise!" Moira cried from the porch.

The doberman immediately turned his sleek head and padded right to her, his demeanor changed completely. He even whined for a scratch behind the ears. "That's the word to call them off, if you ever need it," she told us as we tentatively got out of the car. "Don't spread it around."

We didn't, but we did write the word down and tape the paper on which it was written to the dashboard.

There was also the cabinet full of guns. Maybe not as many as we had, but Moira could hold her own in a contest against us. Even her grandmother knew how to use them. Was that ever a surreal sight, that cantankerous old crone stripping down a Beretta shotgun so she could clean it.

All this had me thinking that we had run into one of the wackiest coincidences ever, one worthy of the best of classic sit-coms: Moira was a hunter too. But my thinking changed when we encountered the backyard.

Moira had quite the garden; it took up half the area from the house to the fence. She also had a large shed hidden under a pergola enshrouded in tarps and overgrown vines. It had obviously been back there for quite some time. If someone were to look over the fence, they would never know there was a shed under there, but if you were in the backyard, you could walk right up to it. You just had to know what you were looking for under all that camouflage.

There were various cords and tubing running into the shed. It seemed to have electricity and a water source. Add in that I later saw Moira's grandmother counting piles of cash before she thought to shut the door and I think you can figure out that Moira was growing and selling something else besides home remedies.

"Well, that explains why she smells like a record store every Friday night and has a frequent craving for Funyuns," Dean mumbled on our way out.

All kidding aside, the situation sparked an argument between Dean and I because just having Moira around the house was a risk. We had done everything we could to leave our criminal past behind, but as Dean pointed out, there were certain aspects of it that would stay with us forever.

"Sam, we've murdered people," he said. It was a subject we hardly ever spoke about, but it was certainly true. "How many times have we just stabbed a possessed person in order to kill the demon when we could have done an exorcism instead? That doesn't even begin to cover it..."

"Dean, I'm not talking about the moral implications of this. Lord knows I'm far more guilty of hurting people than Moira could ever be," I admitted. "But what she's doing is illegal, and I have my wife and son to think about."

In the end, we wound up doing a spell to sort of "avert the eyes" of the police away from Moira's home so she would never be caught. Was it the right thing to do? After some of the things I've done, I don't have the right to judge. I just couldn't take her away from Dean. The lost, hurt look in his eyes at the thought of possibly losing her for my sake... I had to find another way. Dean had come back to this time period so I could be happy. He deserves to be happy too.

Sometimes when I look at Dean and Moira together, I think we slipped into one of those alternate universes and I just didn't know it. They seem mismatched somehow. But it works, even if I can't explain it.

One night out on the porch recently, Moira was putting together some kind of poultice for Dean's cold while he ran his hand absently through her hair. "You know, I used to fantasize that I would wind up with a nurse," Dean said. "Somebody with a respectable job. I guess I was trying to balance the scales."

Many women would have taken this as an insult, as if Dean thought he didn't "wind up" with someone respectable. Moira, though, I think she knows exactly where she lies on the social scale, and it doesn't bother her. She also knows that it doesn't bother Dean. "I am a nurse, baby," she said, holding up a rubber spatula covered in green speckled goo. "I'm just the old fashioned kind." Moira put the spatula down. "Now let's get you naked so I can put this stuff on your chest."

I doubt most nurses say it like that, but then they're not the home remedy type.

*****

Hearing the story of Dean's alternate universe child and how she battled Lucifer got me thinking about my son, and his place in fate. Would I ever let my child hunt? I don't know. It's hard to find a balance between wanting him to have a normal childhood and knowing what horrors await him out there if he doesn't know how to defend himself. Tress and I finally decided that we would leave it up to Paul, when he was old enough to make his own decisions.

A prophecy I heard in mid-1977 made it clear that Paul would not have the chance to become an adult before he would have to make one of those decisions.

Around the time that I saw young Alva Keel again, Paul had begun talking about his imaginary friend, Ron. Except that he quickly became "Mega Ron." Mega Ron came to Paul in dreams and spoke to him about the kind of things kids like to talk about... toys, swingsets, puppies... we thought it was Paul's way of hinting that he wanted us to buy him these things. He already had a swingset, but we would have to talk about the dog... then, the things Mega Ron talked about began to change in tone.

"Daddy, are you a superhero?" he asked one morning over his bowl of cereal.

"No, I'm just a regular guy," I replied.

"But you're so big and strong."

"I have to work at that, son. Like always finishing my breakfast." I pointed at the bowl of cereal he'd just been playing with for the last five minutes.

Paul poked at it with his spoon.

"Are you full, Paul?" Tress questioned.

"No. I'm just wondering about something."

Why did the simplest of statements sound so cute coming from my son's mouth? He was 'wondering about something.' I smiled at him, nearly laughing. "What's that?"

"I was wondering what a vessel is."

I think we all got a cold chill up our backs when we heard that; I know I did. Tress's face looked shocked and frightened, her mouth open in a small 'O.' Dean's eyes widened. Had Castiel told my child about vessels?

The answer was no, it was not Castiel. Paul continued. "Mega Ron said I was a vessel, and so are you, and so is Uncle Dean. But I'm not sure what that is, 'cept it seems to be some kinda good guy, like Superman. So I thought maybe you were a superhero."

It took us all a few seconds to find our voices again. "Paul, what else does Mega Ron talk to you about?"

"Some of it sounds scary. He says there will be a war soon between good guys and bad guys and that vessels will be important." Paul stopped playing with his cereal long enough to look up at me. "Important, that's a big word."

"Yes, I suppose it is." I looked at Dean and Tress helplessly. Someone was talking to my son behind my back, telling him about things he was far too young to understand.

We called Castiel into this so he could question Paul about "Mega Ron" too. Paul had finished his cereal and was sitting at the kitchen table drawing puppies sailing a boat. "Hi Paul. Can we talk about Mega Ron?"

"Sure." Paul swung his little legs back and forth under the table.

"Do you know what he looks like?"

"Uh huh."

"Can you draw him for me?"

"Okay." Paul loves to draw.

A few minutes later, he had drawn us a very strange picture of a humanoid figure with six angelic wings coming from its back. The figure was on fire. Paul used the brightest colors he could find in his crayon box, bearing down hardest with the yellow one. The figure used two of its wings to cover its face.

"He won't show me his face. He says the light is too bright for me to look at. He doesn't want to hurt me. Mega Ron said he's still learning about people and that he's sorry he hurt Mommy. Mommy, did he hurt you?"

It was all becoming clear to us now. It was the Seraph. Paul was talking to the Seraph.

Looking at the drawing, Castiel thought hard about it all and finally noticed something we'd missed. "Mega Ron..." he said to himself. The realization came into his eyes and wrote itself across his face in shock; not even he had expected this. " _Metatron_."

Tress gasped. We had all heard that name before. Being a child, Paul had mispronounced it, said it in a way that was easier for him. But Cas was right.

Many sources state that the angel Metatron is a member of the Seraphim. Apparently, it was true, and my son was his vessel.

*****

It was June 1977 when I saw Alva Keel again. His family had come back to The Millstone on another trip to America. At this point, he was about eleven or twelve, and looked it, which made me feel stupid for ever thinking it was 1978 when I met him before.

The excited, youthful boy ran up to me by the side of the pool, where I was collecting empty glasses. The hotel had offered me a manager's position years ago, but I refused it because it would take up too much of my free time, which was needed for family and hunting. Here I was, still collecting dishes and wiping down tables, and Alva Keel was growing into a young man. "Hello!" he said. "You're Sam, right?"

"Yeah, that's right."

"Do you remember me?"

"I do. Your name is Alva."

He nodded. "My uncle Finlay is moving to Boston, so we came here to help him settle in."

Shifting uneasily, I took a few seconds to collect myself before speaking again. Finlay Keel had almost ruined my relationship with Tress, however unintentional. "Oh, that's nice."

"He's an archeologist. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

"Yeah, exciting." I busied myself collecting the dishes from a nearby table.

Alva sat down on a lounge chair. "Uncle Finlay is letting me look at some of the ancient texts he's translating now. I know several ancient languages, you know." Rolling his eyes, he amended, "Well, not _whole_ languages. But I know many of the words!"

"That's good. You're a very smart boy." Dread crawled up my spine. Crap, had Finlay Keel translated new texts concerning us? I wasn't sure I wanted Alva to continue.

"Thank you. His latest project has some scary prophecies in it. Predictions for next year! That's part of the reason Uncle Finlay wanted a transfer to Boston."

That dread settled into my spine, turning it ice cold. "Why here?"

Alva leaned forward and spoke in a low, conspiratorial voice. "Because the stuff that's supposed to happen will happen _right here_. In Boston. And Uncle Finlay wants to be there to see it."

The only word that came to mind at that moment was _Fuck_. I swallowed hard. "What's supposed to happen?" I heard myself say. The sound had changed, like I was down inside a tunnel.

Alva looked around to make sure no one was listening. "Don't tell my parents I told you this, okay? They don't like when I talk about it."

"I won't tell them."

"Next year, the Apocalypse is going to begin. Right here."

Somehow, I wasn't surprised. "You're kidding," I said, trying to sound flippant. The blood was beating loudly in my ears by now.

"No way! I wouldn't kid about such a thing. These prophecies were written by a prophet thousands of years ago, when Boston didn't even exist. That's what my uncle thinks the texts say, anyway; Boston. Lucifer will attack the city with an army of demons and be met by an army of angels. Their war will cause a great earthquake that will crumble buildings into the sea. Large portions of Boston will be destroyed. But Lucifer can be defeated."

I knew this part already, but I pretended I didn't know a thing about the arrival of the Seraph. "How?"

Turns out I got a surprise after all. Alva replied, "It will take a team built from love. Two brothers. One who says yes, the other who says no, his wife, their child, and three angels: The Archangel Michael, the Seraph Metatron, and a rebel guardian angel. Can you believe that?"

I sat down hard in the nearest chair. The prophecy couldn't have been more personal. Lucifer was going to find us, and bring the Apocalypse with him.

I must've gone pale, for Alva said, "Are you alright?"

At first, I could only nod, but eventually found my voice. "Yes. Yes, I'm okay. It's just an overwhelming prophecy. To think of all that happening here."

"Do you think it will come true?"

Almost immediately, I nodded again. "Yes, Alva, I do. I think it will come true." I leaned across to him and placed my hand over his. "Alva, listen to me. Whenever this prophecy is supposed to happen, you should convince your uncle to leave the city. He could be killed if he stays here."

"But he wants to see it. And you know what? So do I." Alva's eyes shined with the wonder of seeing such a thing. "It sounds amazing. The Apocalypse. How many times in a guy's life will he have the chance to see that?"

"No, no, Alva." I squeezed his hand. "Trust me, it could be very, very bad. Many will probably die in the battle. You shouldn't be here, and neither should your uncle." And what about Tress? She would be there? What would happen to her, in the middle of all that carnage?

Alva pouted a little. "I hear what you're saying, but I don't know if I can convince my uncle to leave when it happens. I dare say he's looking forward to the date."

This caught me off guard; surely the man didn't have an exact day marked off on the calendar. "Your uncle knows the exact date when this Apocalypse will happen?"

Alva nodded. "Yes. It will be November 2, 1978."

That shouldn't have hit me so hard. I should have expected it. That horrible, fateful date that had taken so much from us already. What was it about November 2nd that it represented all this death and devastation for our family?

Tilting his head, Alva asked, "Are you sure you're alright?"

I managed to nod. "I just can't believe it will be that soon."

"Mango~oooo!" his mother called from the other side of the pool, waving to him.

"Oh, I have to go." He jumped up, but turned back to ask one more question. "By the way, what happened with your spies?"

Even after all these years, I still remembered what he was talking about. "You were right," I said with a shrug. "They weren't real."

"Aha!" Pointing at me, Alva winked. "You should have listened to me." Then he took off to join his mother on the other side of the pool.

I wouldn't see him again until the day the two armies came.

*****

Later that night, Castiel paced back and forth while he ranted at me after I'd told him and Dean about this prophecy. "I warned you, Sam. I told you that if you stayed here in the 1970s that bad things could happen. Lucifer was supposed to bring the Apocalypse about in 2010, but now your presence will bring him here. Who knows what could happen next."

In response, Dean shrugged. "What difference does it make if it happens here or in the future? An Apocalypse is an Apocalypse. Either way, we just gotta prevent it."

"But Dean, you don't understand." Castiel stopped pacing and stood before him. "In 2010, Paul would have been an adult. Here, he's just a child. I don't know if he can act as Metatron's vessel now. Everything could be lost."

"But Alva said we could defeat Lucifer," I reminded him. "That Paul would be part of the team."

Castiel still shook his head. "I'm not so convinced."

Let Castiel worry. That night, I was happy, as crazy as it sounds. Yes, there was a danger to Tress and to Paul with this prophecy; in fact, we were all in grave danger. But that prophecy had also confirmed for me that we had changed history.

Tress was supposed to die of cancer on May 16, 1978. The prophecy said she would be part of the team that faced the Apocalypse on November 2, 1978. My Tress was no longer going to die. She would still be alive way past the prophesied date on her tombstone. Our presence had changed some things for the good as well. I was convinced of it.

That is why the prophecy made me loosen up on certain issues. In the end, I'm not sure it was so good for us to know. No matter what the doctors said, I will always regret that I relaxed and stopped insisting on regular checkups because of that prophecy. Tress didn't have an EEG in 1977.

She had her first seizure in March 1978.


End file.
